Tiresias
by wearethewitches
Summary: Lorie Potter has been kidnapped a few times in her lifetime. And by a few, she means nearly fifty. And when she says she gets kidnapped, what she isn't saying is that her kidnappers are actual, living, breathing monsters straight out of a world-mythology book.
1. My Uncle is from Persia

- **Chapter** **One** -

So, you obviously know the story of Harry Potter. Many people do. Knowing this story though, implies you know how Lord Voldemort was defeated – Harry Potter. It implies many things actually, including the fact that you're aware of the elusive and hard-to-be-found Gods and Goddess' of Ancient Greece. What you might not be aware of though, is how they aren't _really_ supposed to exist in the same universe.

Oh they _could_ , because Harry Potter is canonically a giant idiot who can't see something happening right in front of his eyes – but let's just imagine, for a moment, that they weren't.

Now.

Now imagine them _together_. Imagine demigods – children of Hecate having their own children, passing down the gift of magic that just won't disappear from their bloodline, because magic itself is something above even the Gods themselves. Imagine wix that are demigods – being hunted down and killed by monsters that smell not only a delectable meal and foe, but also something _else_ , an entire vat of pure magic that would empower a hoard of monsters for centuries yet, and just the _idea_ is intoxicating to the gods-damned archetypes. Imagine them – imagine the demigods and the wix and the demigods-who-are-wix banding together, creating communities that could defeat these monsters that came for one of their own. Imagine that in a village of wix, a village of a hundred, two hundred, eight hundred – only one will be a demigod-who-is-wix, or four, or a hundred. They are either alone, or surrounded by those they would call sibling or cousin, or just _relative_.

Gods flock to Gods, after all.

Now imagine these communities, these hidden towns that wield magic and powers-from-Gods, and imagine them growing and growing, in both number and cleverness. Imagine them speeding past their mundane counterparts, to reaches untold, creating castes and hierarchies and _governments_. Imagine them, the wix and the demigods-who-are-wix, imagine them hiding away as the mundanes become jealous and hateful, slowly decreasing their presence until, all at once, they don't exist. To mundanes, wix are a fae-tale, a story told in front of a fire about imaginary powers and imaginary magic and imaginary _gods_.

Imagine those mundanes growing in mind and body, believing wix are bedtime fables for centuries, and unwittingly pushing them farther and farther away, until only magicks specifically designed to keep them away, keep mundanes far, far from the sight and sound of wix, are able to safely keep wix-communities integrated into the places they call _home_.

Imagine that Hogwarts was only able to be hidden from mundanes because the thrice-great granddaughters and thrice-great grandsons of Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor were children of Hecate that had the insane, absolutely preposterous idea to _hide the valley in the Cairngorms that Hogwarts within stood from mundanes, forever_ , only for the powerful magic that which they used to do more than they anticipated. Imagine that the Gods are unable to find, unable to see through the magicks which previously before they could sense half a world away. Imagine that Hecate is quietly jealous of her children, and overly vindictive – imagine that the Gods believe they destroyed themselves.

Imagine that both mundanes and the Gods believe wix to be gone, and that they convince themselves they never existed.

(You don't have to imagine – we've done the same thing in our own world. We've lost the true truth to Father Time – _we forget he existed too_.)

* * *

For the majority of her life, Lorelei "Call me Lorie" Potter had lived by three rules that she had made for herself as a child. Rule One: never form an opinion until you are properly – and fully – informed. Rule Two: always give everything at least two _insert-noun-here_ , because basing things off a singular experience was stupid, not to mention unfair. The number had changed over the years, but averaging prompted Lorie to do things in binary sets.

An example of that was swimming lessons. The first time she went to lessons with her school, she had a vaguely queasy stomach every time she ducked her head under the surface, and dreaded next week's lesson. The second time, it only got worse, with the added benefit of literally being sick, and a pounding headache, and Lorie asked Petunia to write her a note, which Petunia did.

She never went swimming again.

Understandably, there were some things Lorie took longer to decide on, and couldn't get out of even if she didn't like it. An example of that was primary school – very quickly she showed herself to be very proficient and speedy when it came to school-work. It took a little while for her to convince her uncle to let her join Dudley's primary school year, let alone an _older_ class – Vernon Dursley did not approve of it all, _girls_ being raised up in school, children being called _prodigies_ and _geniuses_. At the time, Lorie had been six, Dudley eight. Lorie would have gone from being primary one, to primary four, maybe even primary _five_.

It was a big thing, and it took until the winter holidays, when her report card came in, stating that the teacher had been asking for material from the primary seven class, for Vernon to finally grumble about _the bloody education system not telling you when your own little girl is a genius prodigy,_ and acquiescing, signing the attached forms along with Petunia, attending several meetings in and out of St Grogory's Primary School.

Lorie's final rule, Rule Three, was so: never talk about the monsters.

The monsters were always there, watching, waiting, _snatching_. More than once, little Lorie – too small to run, too weak to fight back – had been bundled into the back of a car and taken somewhere. She would cry and scream, and make as much noise as possible, scratching and hitting until either, a) they tied her up, b) they reached their destination, or c) the car flipped.

The fact that _every single time_ she was taken in a car, it flipped, did not go unnoticed.

Little Whinging had since gotten a larger police force, more security cameras, and both St Gregory's and Privet Drive themselves required key-card access, the gates and roads respectively needing the officers on duty and residents to use their security passes to enter each. Lorie herself had a personal police officer assigned to her whenever she left either area without Vernon or a male teacher. Officer Staffox – and when Staffox wasn't there, Officer Smith – stayed at a distance, and regularly practiced different defensive manoeuvres with her so she could escape different grips.

Sometimes they worked. Most times, they didn't. Everyone thought it was because she was weak – and she was, just not _that_ weak. Lorie knew it was because they were monsters. But that was the rule – Rule Three. _Don't talk about the monsters_. The one time she did, Lorie got assigned a psychologist for two years. At first, when talking to them, she told them all of what she never usually mentioned in the post-escape interrogation with the police-officers. She told them about the one-legged, the one-eyed, the winged, how they whispered about the Great Game to get her across the magical barrier around the wretched town – and then Lorie realised they thought she had PTSD and was imagining things.

Lorie wasn't imagining things. She'd managed to free herself by slicing into a wing-tendon once, taking advantage of the woman's screaming to both get out and attract the attention of someone who could take her to the police. It had been pretty easy, though next time a winged person grabbed her, they glared at her murderously before stiffly turning their backs to show the guard over the naturally unprotected region.

However, one good thing had come out of telling someone about the monsters – her Aunt Petunia finally told her the truth about her mother. Who was a witch. Who could use magic. Who was murdered by a dark wizard by the name of Voldemort the day before Petunia found Lorie on her doorstep with a letter that she gave Lorie to read, having kept it all these years.

Inside, it explained the precarious situation that Lily and her father, James, had been in. Voldemort had wanted to kill them, or more specifically, her brother David. Lily had David when she was nineteen – barely, according to Aunt Petunia – on August first, nineteen seventy-nine, and it was only a couple of months after his birth that they got word that Voldemort was looking for them, to kill David, as he was prophesied to defeat him.

Which he did.

But the Potter's were in hiding for a long time before Voldemort found them, scared for the life of their son, and in that time – not that most knew – they had Lorie. The letter-writer stated it had been much the surprise to find out she even existed, when Voldemort's attack was discovered, though close family friends stated they knew either of her, or simply _her_ , having spent time with her as a baby.

Voldemort's attack itself took place on the Halloween of nineteen eighty-three. David was four years old but already very, very brave, Lorie only having turned two that past July. When Lily and James were both dead, Voldemort faced David, who somehow vanquished the evil man, leaving himself on the verge of death. Only the most experienced of St Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies' healers understood his condition and were able to treat him, placing him in an enchanted sleep so his magic could recover from the fatal blow – his magical core had been cracked, the amount of magic used to do whatever had been done to the dark wizard too much for a still-developing core.

Having always thought David had been dead alongside her parents, Lorie was more upset over the fact that the letter told them that David was in a coma, rather than the fact that she hadn't been told this all from the start. She didn't speak to Petunia directly for _weeks_ – and even wrote to this 'Albus Dumbledore', trying to find out more information. In the three years since she sent it, Lorie hadn't received a reply.

Until today.

"Girl, what's taking so long? Looking for letter-bombs?" Uncle Vernon laughed at his own joke, Lorie cringing slightly. Her uncle thought himself funny.

Tucking the letter in her hoodie's kangaroo pocket, Lorie scooped the rest of the post up, running back into the kitchen to set it down beside Uncle Vernon's newspaper, joining Dudley at the table. He looked up at the sight of her, pushing her plate from one side of the table to the other.

"Thanks," she said, thoughts on the parchment burning against her stomach. Digging into the cooked breakfast, Lorie used her right hand to steal Uncle Vernon's newspaper, scanning the pages at lightning speed as he looked through the post. Once Vernon realised what she'd done, he tugged it back, placing it out of her reach, chuckling.

"Little tyke, there's nothing in there for you to see – take one of Pet's magazines."

Lorie grumbled, before instead reaching for Dudley's comic. Deftly, without looking up, he grabbed her wrist, squeezing it hard enough to bruise.

"Don't even think about it, midget."

"Let go," Lorie whined, trying to tug it away and failing as Dudley kept eating, eyes glued to the laminate paper. Glaring at him, Lorie concentrated, looking to her hand. A few seconds later Dudley yelped, tumbling sideways off his chair as he pulled away his hand sharply, dropping her wrist. Triumphant, Lorie finished her breakfast quickly, skipping out of the room just as Petunia called out her name in anger.

Running up to her room, Lorie snickered, before leaning against the sticker-coated door, locking herself in with the newly screwed-in bolt – she'd paid for it with her own money that she'd gotten for cutting the neighbours' grass. She'd get an earful when she went down – she wasn't supposed to use magic, let alone on _Dudley_ , despite how she apparently didn't have enough to attend Hogwarts anyway – but right now? Lorie had a letter to open.

Going to sit at her desk, Lorie took out the envelope from her pocket, sitting down and peering at it. _Miss Lorelei Sophie Potter, Lorie's Bedroom, Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey._ No postcode. Lorie frowned. _Why doesn't it have a postcode?_ Hand reaching out blindly, she opened her desk-drawer, taking out the original letter from Dumbledore. Looking between it and the new letter, Lorie's confidence wavered.

It wasn't the same handwriting.

But… _it couldn't be her Hogwarts letter._ She wasn't even eleven! She was turning thirteen in, quite literally, a week. They were going to Blackpool tomorrow for it, plus an early celebration for Lorie getting her GSCE's, which they all _knew_ she'd passed – she studied university material for _fun_. Dudley would be getting his newest order for this years' Smelting's uniform in the post, but her exam results would come later, after they got home. Dudley's uniform had changed, apparently, though it would likely be the same uniform, only a different stitch – Petunia had complained loudly, but still filled in the forms. Lorie thought she'd seen a message from the post office between the pile of bills and taxes and _this_.

Placing Dumbledore's letter down, Lorie turned it over, swallowing at the sight of the purple wax seal. Cracking it, the young girl slid the envelope open, taking out the thick sheaf of parchment, unfolding it and staring at the thick, looping, imposing calligraphy.

 ** _HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_**

"No, no, this isn't right…" Lorie read the rest of the letter, wondering if it was all handwritten – because unless the school's entry-age had increased, or they were making a terrible, absolutely _horrendous_ joke, she should have gotten this _years_ ago.

Lorie looked to the mirror in front of her, staring at herself. _I'd be with eleven year olds._ She might be small, but she couldn't pass for being _that_ young – she wasn't like her mother had been in her pictures, ageless and unidentifiable, unless you compared her ten year-old self to her sixteen. Lorie was all sharp cheeks and olive skin and maturity, surrounded by a halo of silken black curls that were always coming out of her ballerina bun. _I can't pass as an eleven year old_. It might only be two years, but it looked like four, sometimes.

Head tipping back down, she shuffled through the parchment. Ms Thomsonicle-Pocus hadn't written out a very concise list of things to bring – it seemed more like school requirements rather than an actual checklist. It didn't even include pyjamas, or normal clothes. _It's a boarding school, too – it should have more than this. Maybe I should write to a teacher, to see if they can come explain life in Hogwarts_ , Lorie thought before realising that she'd actually have to get these somehow.

She'd have to tell her aunt and uncle she was a witch.

Immediately, Lorie stuffed the letter and envelope into her drawer again, hiding it beneath her old jotters from primary, filled with poems and both artful and _correct_ mathematics. They couldn't find out. She'd have to write a letter to Hogwarts, explaining that she couldn't go – and what about her muggle education? She was planning to take her A-Levels this coming year, provided her GSCE'S were marked appropriately. Vernon was already boasting to the neighbours that she was going to go to Cambridge. Going to Hogwarts…it was impossible. No. She couldn't go.

Lorie bit her lip.

The truth was this: _she did want to go to Hogwarts_. But a second truth was this: _she_ _did actually want to go to Cambridge_.

"Maybe I can do both?" She whispered, wondering who she was asking. The Lorie's eyes caught her calendar, eyes going wide. "Shit! AUNT PETUNIA! BALLET STARTS EARLY TODAY! I HAVE LESS THAN AN HOUR!"

" _WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY EARLIER? GET YOUR THINGS! VERNON WILL TAKE YOU!_ "

Lorie, who had already rocketed to her feet, packing her bag quickly, rolled her eyes. "DON'T YOU THINK I'M ALREADY DOING THAT, YOU MADWOMAN?! TELL UNCLE VERNON I'LL BE DOWN IN TEN MINUTES – I NEED A SHOWER!"

" _BE QUICK!_ "

"YES AUNT PETUNIA!"

The letter in the drawer sat forgotten – for now.

* * *

"-so, _Monica_ , you can walk away now-"

"My name's Maven!" Monica glared down at her. Lorie ignored her, simply staring venomously and continuing.

"-and go fuck your boyfriend, or you can bloody damn well _do your part_ for this performance. This is the last one you're in, before you leave to go up North, with or without Ernest-"

"His name is Ernie!"

"-who, by the way, won't be going with you, because he still goes to fucking _boarding school in Scotland_ – and his name _is_ Ernest, actually, I stole his wallet at one point – and is a fucking _minor_ , unlike you, who is what, eighteen?"

Monica clenched her jaw, "I'm turning seventeen in a month."

Lorie rolled her eyes, "And Macmillan's something like fourteen. I don't _care_. What I do care about is your dedication to our performance, and you're slacking. Now either get your arse in gear, or tell us you're leaving by tomorrow evening. I've had Sharon learning your part-"

"My name is Shannon," said girl chided from beside Monica on the floor, wiping down her pointe slippers.

"-and she can do it. She's dedicated. You aren't, and if you are, we can't see it."

Monica huffed, "I am dedicated."

"Prove it, then!" Lorie let off one last snap, before leaving, heading over to where her stuff sat, thrown over not one, but six chairs. Gathering it up, Lorie grumbled, wishing that practice had ended earlier, so she could use the shower there at the studio, below them in the basement changing area. Uncle Vernon would notice if she let an odd smell get into his fancy new Mercedes.

"Potter, over here when you're packed up," her instructor called. Lorie grimaced, wondering if she'd gone too far with Monica. Zipping up her bag, she swung it over her shoulder, padding over to the woman, fiddling with a stray strand of hair – or rather, a thick wad.

"Yes, Ms Morgan?"

Zoe zipped up her hoodie – black, with the studio logo on the back and breast-pocket, professional in comparison to Lorie's bright, eighties Electro pullover. Though, she did have a thin, grey zip-hoodie over the top, so maybe that made up for it. She handed over a black scrunchie at the sight of her, causing Lorie to thanks her before pulling all her hair back, tying it up. Most likely, Zoe would find Lorie's _actual_ hairband somewhere on the studio floor before she left that evening, or another ballet student would.

"I'm retiring after this performance. I thought you should know."

Lorie's mind went blank for a moment. "What?"

Zoe's nails scraped over her stomach, "I'm having a baby. When my ex-husband decided he was going to work more hours for child-support, he got a promotion, and found a new partner – we've already made arrangements about it all. Everything's. Harold was rather fortuitous in life, and John wants to be the best dad he can be…I'll be moving in with him and Harold, in Westchester, living in a separate wing."

"Westchester…like, America?"

"Yes. I'm moving a week after the performance. You're my favourite little bird, Lorelei – I've made some calls, recommending and referring you to some other studios. I think you could settle in well with the Sam's."

"The Sam's – Ms Groves and Ms Shaw, right?" Lorie was still stuck on the part where her teacher was leaving. Zoe nodded. "…Oh."

"Come here."

Lorie burrowed into her arms, feeling her eyes burn. "Good- good luck. In America." Zoe pressed a kiss to her head.

"Thank-you, little bird. Do you have anything to tell me in return?" She joked, referring to their back and forth, from over the years – each told a detail about their life, and while Zoe had the best adventures to share from her lifetime, Lorie always had something to say.

Lorie, at this though, hesitated, reminding herself of the parchment in her drawer, the letter she had yet to bring up with her aunt and uncle.

"Lorelei?"

Lorie pulled away, taking her mentors hands and bending down, staring at her middle. "You be good for your mummy. She's got so many stories to tell. All you have to do is ask." She stood straight, squeezing. Zoe squeezed back. "I got invited to my parents' private school, two years late. They have an entry-rate of eleven, and if I went, I'd be joining midgets. I want to take my A-Levels and go to Cambridge, and do ballet, and not disappoint my aunt and uncle-"

"Lorelei, you're ranting at a very fast pace. Luckily, I can translate Lorie Potter. What would your parents want you to do?"

"The private school, definitely – it's older than Cambridge by several hundred years, according to my mother's history text-book. My dad's family have been going there for centuries. It's part of my heritage, a culture I've not joined or been allowed to join – Aunt Petunia never got a letter, not like my mother."

Zoe nodded. "Take correspondence courses."

Lorie grimaced, "I don't think-"

"Let me rephrase: take your A-Levels through correspondence courses. You've never had trouble with work, and if you have trouble, a school that old will have a library that will help. And surely you'll get some kind of discount for being part of such a family, going there for so long. What's it called, again?"

Lorie's lip twitched. "That's classified." Zoe hummed, before bringing her into a hug.

"Thank-you for talking to Maven earlier. I think she'll drop out, too. And talk to your relatives, Lorelei – promise me?"

"I promise, Zo." Lorie said quietly, before the hairs on her arms rose, a feeling in the back of her head warning her of an approaching danger. Unfortunately though, it was the familiar kind of danger. "I've got to go. Bye."

"Bye, Lorie."

Lorie gave Zoe a quick smile before running towards the exit, glancing at a clock – five, nearly ten minutes Uncle Vernon had been waiting. _He's going to be_ _ **so**_ _pissed._

"Girl!" Came his shout as she exited the building. Lorie grimaced, jumping the wall to the waiting car, opening the door and sliding in, noting that the police were absent today – why was that? "All the other girls left already – where were you?"

"My teacher is retiring," Lorie revealed, "She recommends I transfer to the Sam's Ballet Troupe."

At that, Uncle Vernon snorted, driving off. "Bunch of lesbos. If Morgan's retiring, that's it. No more ballet. When's she leaving?"

"After the performance," Lorie swallowed, looking to her bag. "I have a couple more sessions over the next month, before we do our matinee dress-rehearsal on the second Saturday of August, and then the opening night afterwards."

Uncle Vernon grunted, "We're going to Blackpool. You aren't staying behind."

"I know, I know – it's all been arranged." Lorie said in a whisper, before silence took up the rest of the car journey. Relatively soon though, they reached Privet Drive, and it was to Lorie's utter confusion that the security gate had disappeared. "Where's the gate?"

"What gate?" Uncle Vernon gave her a strange look. "Are you high? Is that why you're late?"

"What? No!" Lorie stared at him, and that was when she finally noticed the red film over his eyes. "What the hell – who are you?"

Not-Vernon glanced at her, before his mouth opened and an unfamiliar voice escaped. "Strange, they say you know immediately." Lorie's arm whipped out, nails going to scratch his face, only for her limbs to snap to the sides of her body, seatbelt pulling her back against the seat. Not-Vernon then started emitting a disgusting presence, her magic and instincts _screaming_ at her like they always did when she was being kidnapped.

"I was quite interested in this 'game' once I discovered it, but I waited," Not-Vernon started, sounding whimsical. Lorie snarled, going to shout at it, but something stopped her. "I wanted to see how you reacted – how the mortals reacted. It was enlightening to know that such a proud, English, middle-upper class family set in their ways would refuse witness protection, especially seeing as you have been kidnapped multiple times."

Lorie shut her eyes, gritting her teeth. _For fucks sake, why is it monologuing? Not that it's not interesting and informative…_ Lorie took a breath, focusing on its voice. _Rule One: don't form an opinion until you are properly and fully informed_.

"So I planned, I watched, I adjusted my plans, and then I executed them – your family, not the plan," it paused, causing Lorie to let out a startled, silent gasp of shock, eyes flying wide open. "Well, the plan too, but your family as well."

 _It killed the Dursley's. Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Dudley…_

"You killed them?" Somehow, she broke through whatever stopped her from talking, a migraine immediately pounding through her forehead. Immediately, the car pulled over – not helping her migraine – swerving, the windows shimmering briefly – showing a high-way, and beeping cars and trucks and lorries – before Little Whinging returned. The monster turned to her as it stopped.

"Oh, _this_ is why my fellows couldn't complete the game – every time we counter you, something new appears." It looked fascinated. Or rather, Not-Vernon looked satisfied, face pinky-red as it always went when his blood-pressure rose. "Do you even know what the game is, demigod?"

 _Demigod?_ "No," Lorie choked out, squeezing her eyes shut as her migraine became more like a sharp knife in her brain. "What- what's the game?"

"The _game_ is to get you out of the Dead Zone. Not even the Gods have power here, and we monsters tracked that to _you_. And once we _found_ you…you are a well of power, a delectable treat. Demigod, blessed of _Ningirama_ – though you may better know her as Trivia, or perhaps Hecate."

"The Gods aren't real," Lorie argued. "Magic is as magic is. I'm a witch, no more."

The monster looked surprised, "An unaware demigod?" It sniffed deeply, eyes immediately glazing. "Oh, oh, _oh…_ " Not-Vernon shivered in a disturbing way, leaning towards her. "So strong, so _powerful_ …"

It came close – too close. Lorie focused on her magic, face pained as she violently struck her head against it's, magic empowering the blow so much that Not-Vernon was blown out of the car, door collapsing as Not-Vernon went flying. Instantly, the rest of her invisible restraints were lifted, and Lorie got out of the car, grabbing her bag as almost an after-thought, and Vernon's wallet too randomly, waiting neatly in the glove compartment alongside several CD's that Lorie _knew_ Petunia despised-

Lorie's heart panged. _Aunt Petunia's dead._ She didn't have any evidence, or proof, but somewhere in her chest, she knew it to be true. Her shoulders shook, but she didn't let herself cry, running off, up the tall grass side of the motorway, stumbling and clawing her way up the wet dirt, reaching the overpass before another truly coherent thought passed through her brain. _I need my things. I need to go back to Privet Drive._

"Where am I, though?" Lorie squinted around, trying to find a landmark or signpost – she found one quickly, right in front of her. Large, green, and full of words, Lorie quickly understood she was barely outside of Greater Whinging – but still unfortunately about four or five miles from Little Whinging. _If Dudley were here, he'd just nick a vehicle._ He'd told her enough stories about being stranded in London by his friends after they went out to get sloshed, in Smeltings, never mind that both were technically illegal.

A car approached, slowing, window rolling down. Mrs Polkiss' head popped out. "Lorelei Potter? What are you doing out here? Where's your supervisor?" Lorie couldn't help but glance behind her, to the Mercedes – to where people now surrounded Vernon's body. She looked back to Mrs Polkiss and stepped forwards, hands reaching to her head, grabbing it tightly.

"What- get your hands off of me!"

" ** _Forget. Forget this meeting_**." Lorie focussed her magic to her hands, trying to convey her desire. Mrs Polkiss' cries died down, her eyes glazing over. Lorie swallowed, letting her go, staggering back, before running across the road, hiding behind a bush, watching Mrs Polkiss as she frowned, looking around in confusion before shaking her head, not looking worried in the slightest. Lorie waited for her to drive off before she straightened and looked around. _If I climb this hill, I can get to that car-park_. The hill wasn't very steep, so she could see up to the top.

Getting started, Lorie wondered slightly numbly just exactly how the monster killed her relatives. _Uncle_ _Vernon_ …the monster must have been possessing his body. Lorie glanced back at the body, swallowing. _It's not glowing anymore_. It was just a sack of flesh. The monster was gone. _Possession._ Maybe the monster pushed out of his Uncle Vernon out of his own body to make room, or…or maybe she killed him, and the monster just vacated the body left behind. It was a sickening thought.

 _Aunt Petunia_ …her aunt was dead. Lorie was definitely sure of that. Her instincts didn't pull her to check, or her magic. Nothing. Not even a slight whisper, or doubt. _I hope she's somewhere better_. Her aunt had always been bitter. She'd loved Lorie like her own, but she'd been bitter – only Lorie's apparent lack of Hogwarts letter had ever made that bitterness truly fade. After those weeks Lorie had ignored her, their relationship improved, repaired itself as Lorie and Petunia both vested an interest in each other.

 _And Dudley_ …

Her instincts immediately jumped in favour of searching for him, searching for his body. At that, it was like a cascade – and doubts started to form, multiplying as she realised that _this was how she was thinking_.

She had to find Dudley.

Confidence renewed, Lorie held herself stronger, striding up the hill towards the carpark, hands coming to tip her hood up as she scanned the packed lot. There was a distinct lack of security cameras. _Did Greater Whinging not get the message?_ She mused darkly. _Monsters roam this land_.

Choosing a car was less difficult. Dudley liked sharing – it was something he and Lorie had in common. Lorie knew which cars had electronic alarms by the brand and labels on the windows, and which were less likely to attract attention in her neighbourhood. That narrowed the choices down significantly. She settled on a fancy-looking Prius, that at first glance seemed to be pretty expensive, but on second, was obviously inferior to the more expensive brands. A bonus was the lack of electronic alarm.

And the fact that the owner had left it unlocked.

Lorie let out a harsh laugh, before throwing her bag in the passenger seat, not needing to look behind her due to the car being a two-seater. Hotwiring the car wasn't hard – honestly, they left _instructions_ on what not to touch, and _why_.

It was only later, when nearing Privet Drive, that she realised her problem – she couldn't actually get into Privet Drive and out again without attracting some…attention. Luckily, she _did_ know the weaknesses to the police's system. Perks of being the one they were protecting. Just, _implementing_ a plan was her main concern. And getting caught by anyone, really. Lorie was a very well-known figure, and she looked a lot different from most in Little Whinging, too.

"Could I change my appearance for if I got caught? No, if I did I'd be in _hell_ of a lot of trouble." She spoke to herself to fill the silence, before stopping on Magnolia Crescent. Hood still up as she left, Lorie looked like any random teen – except for her tights, and compression shorts. _I could be identified by these…_ she thought idly as she waved to Mrs Figg without thinking, bending down as an approaching cat mewed.

Said approaching cat was very familiar to Lorie. Her name was Nimkee. Lorie liked to think they were friends. Sometimes, she even thought Nimkee understood her when she talked to her, when she sat in the park, or her aunt and uncle's garden, Nimkee visiting.

" _Mrow_ ," Nimkee brushed her hand up against Lorie's hand, which she rubbed across the black cat's head, scratching behind her large ear before picking her up, kissing her, smiling as her plumed tail wrapped around her arm.

"Hello, babe. How are you?" Nimkee made a noise that Lorie interpreted as _I don't care, I can tell there's something wrong with you. Tell me._ "I'm in a bit of a pickle, actually. Uncle- Uncle Vernon and Aunt- Aunt Petunia are…they're _dead_ , Nimkee-san." Nimkee pushed her head against Lorie's chin. "I need you to find Dudley for me. He's alive, I know it – I'm going to get my stuff from my room. Espionage, dream profession. I can do it. But if Dudley's not there, I won't know where to start, let alone where to go." Nimkee mewed again, Lorie translating it to _Put me down, I'll find him, you be safe, ma cherie._

Lorie put her down, movement in Mrs Figg's window prompting her to speed-walk away, keeping her eye out for neighbours. The streets were empty, per usual, though she could see life inside the houses – wives getting ready for dinner, husbands sitting in front of TV-sets, kids playing on the floor with toys a younger Lorie would have squealed over, teens like herself and Dudley lying across sofas with books and video-games and all-sorts.

Coming to the end of Magnolia crescent, Lorie was suddenly inspired by the sight of a garden. _I can sneak in through the back._ If she was quick, she might even be able to get back through before the guards came running to see who exactly snuck into the Dursley household – especially if she had been 'kidnapped' again. It was the only explanation Lorie could offer for explaining her disappearance and Uncle Vernon's death on the motorway.

"I have to get away," Lorie muttered, thinking of the Wizarding World. Non-magicals could think her dead, and it would solve a _lot_ of problems – including her monster problem. Hogwarts was one of the safest places in the United Kingdoms. _Except Gringotts_ , she remembered, all of a sudden. Her mother's belongings, which Petunia had gifted her – the journal she kept before Hogwarts told of her journey to Diagon Alley, and to Gringotts, home of the Goblin Horde. _Could I request sanctuary?_ Lorie knew she could request it somewhere, she just had to be able to. A magical world _without_ a sanctuary wasn't much of a world.

Quickly glancing around as she came to the opposite house from Privet Drive, that shared a fence and therefore made them neighbours, Lorie wandered into their garden, only to curse herself at the sight of Mr Findley doing his afternoon weeding. _Dammit._ She took a chance to peek into the kitchen window, wincing at the sight of Mrs Findley and her sister. _Great. Absolutely_ _ **great**_ _._

How was she going to get to number four now?


	2. History Lessons with Charlie

- **Chapter Two** -

Okay. Here's a history lesson for you – don't worry, it's a short one, unlike my explanation of how the Wixen community was formed. And actually, unlike that story, you might know this one.

It was in Ancient Greece, as in, the _really_ Ancient Greece. Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, War and the Arts and Crafts, was washing in a bath, and she was walked in on by a man. As expected, she took great offense to this, but unlike, say, Artemis, she didn't kill him. Instead, she lashed out and made him blind – and then, when the man apologised over and over, for he was a very good man at heart who had made a terrible mistake, Athena took pity on him and gave him the power to understand the birds, who would act as his guides, if he so chose.

So, that's your history lesson. Now you get a flashback.

* * *

 _January, of 1983 – Glamorgan Estate, the Outer Forest_

 _"_ _-what you going to do about that, eh Prongs?" Sirius teased, punching James in the shoulder. James scowled._

 _"_ _Stop talking about Lily like that. You_ _ **know**_ _she'll find out."_

 _"_ _Because you'll tell her, and anyway, I think she should take it as a compliment. If you guys want another kid, and you can't have one – and_ _ **I**_ _can't, for that matter, if you wanted a donor – then Remus would be the perfect choice. Lily and he get on like a house on fire – fellow prefects, fellow book-buddies, fellow weirdos with strange powers-"_

 _"_ _Oh, shut up, Padfoot," James grumbled, before rubbing his hands together. "The hot-spring is just up here behind this ward." The two approached, walking around the large, large oak tree, and past the wardline. Sirius grinned at the sight of the bubbling pool, whipping off his towel and running up to it._

 _"_ _Cannonball!" He jumped, curling up into a ball and landing, splashing everywhere. James snorted, going to join him – only for a feminine scream to cause him to freeze._

 _"_ _Get away! Get out – get_ _ **out!**_ _"_

 _James' eyes were drawn to the origin of the noise, as were Sirius', and both men immediately turned, hands clapping over their eyes in unison, apologies tumbling from their lips as the dark-haired woman curled up into a nook in the hot-spring, Sirius stumbling through the bubbling water to the edge, climbing out blindly, James kicking over his towel._

 _"_ _We're_ so _sorry," James said, heartfelt and apologetic to the extreme. "We had absolutely no idea someone would be here…" he suddenly frowned, but didn't turn around to look at her. "Wait a second,_ how _are you here? This is warded property. It belongs to the Glamorgan Estate,_ my _estate. You shouldn't have been able to pass through the wards."_

 _"_ _Wards?"_

 _Both men felt dread. "Oh shit," Sirius whispered. "Jamesy, she's a muggle!"_

 _"_ _What is a 'muggle'?"_

 _James shook his head, "Sirius, I don't think she's a muggle – muggles would have walked in the opposite direction. The Glamorgan Estate has been hidden from non-magical eyes for over two and a half thousand years. She has to be magical, somehow. Or at least – what does Alice call it? Being…"_

 _"_ _Clear-sighted," Sirius replied automatically. "She says I'm clear-sighted, because I saw the weird metal dragon she turned to dust."_

 _"_ _Everyone keeps telling you, it wasn't a dragon – it was a kite!" James rolled his eyes._

 _"_ _I highly doubt that, if this 'Alice' calls you clear-sighted," the woman spoke, voice betraying confusion and anger. "She is a demigod, and you are…something else..."_

 _Sirius and James would have glanced at each other, but they were still shutting their eyes so as to preserve the woman's modesty. James cleared his throat._

 _"_ _Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to give your name. I own this property, and you are trespassing."_

 _"_ _Trespassing?"_

 _Sirius nodded, "Yep, mademoiselle – James here owns the estate. It's been in his family for three thousand years."_

 _"_ _Two and a half thousand," James corrected again._

 _"_ _Whatever, you know that they lied and said it was younger than Hogwarts."_

 _James, at that, blindly hit him on the arm. "Shh, that was in confidence, Heir Black."_

 _Sirius snorted, "'Heir Black'? Come on, you_ know _I'm not the heir anymore."_

 _"_ _Aunt Walburga can't blast you off the family tree, and since your brother's dead and all your cousins are girls, yeah, you're still the Heir of House Black and the future Duke of Ravensmoor." Sirius grumbled as James smirked, before the woman spoke again._

 _"_ _You talk of hierarchies that I believe are long-gone from this Earth. Ravensmoor. It is…very familiar, to me."_

 _"_ _Really?" Sirius questioned, "So you_ are _one of us, then?"_

 _"…_ _I do believe we are one and the same, though your power seems different than mine."_

 _"_ _Awesome, but can we wrap this up, please?" James questioned, "We just want to have a break. This…with everything going on, we wanted to just relax for once." There was a tense silence, before they yelped as their towels transformed into swim-trunks._

 _"_ _You may turn around."_

 _The Marauders exchanged one look before turning, only to discover the woman sitting politely on the edge of the hot-spring, legs submerged all the way up to her shins, her body wrapped in a muggle swimsuit. Sirius clutched James' wrist._

 _"_ _You're too pretty to be real. Don't steal either of us." The woman gave him a stern look that reminded the men of Professor McGonagall, before motioning to the hot-spring. Sirius immediately let go of James, grinning._

 _"_ _Cannonball! Again!" He jumped straight in, splashing both with the water. James cussed at his best friend, before jumping in after him, rough-housing for a moment in the water before they calmed down, looking to the woman._

 _"_ _Joining us?" James asked, holding out his hand politely. The woman eyed it, before taking it slowly, using him as a steady weight as she dropped in again. "We missed proper introductions before – good evening, I am James Charlus, Lord of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House Potter and Earl of Glamorgan. This is my cousin, Sirius Orion, future Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House Black and Duke of Ravensmoor. Would you share your name?"_

 _The woman let go of his hand, sitting down on a nearby bench that had been installed by the Potter's at some point in history._

 _"_ _I am Athena, of Olympus."_

 _"_ _No last name?" Sirius questioned, settling down a few feet from her as James floated in the middle of the spring. "Also, you don't sound like you're from these parts."_

 _She gave him a brief glance. "I originate from Greece, though over the years my family have moved – wherever the peak of civilisation is, we shall be. Currently, however, we are in America."_

 _"_ _The good ol' US of A," Sirius drawled, looking wistful, "Always wanted to visit. Hey, James, when it's time for you, Lilith and Diablo to move about, can we all take a holiday? Like, we can bring Remus-"_

 _"_ _Obviously," James stated drying, shaking his head at the nicknames._

 _"_ _-though Peter's a bit hung up on looking after the old lady. Poor Mary, she didn't look too good last time we visited, did she? Ah well, she can't be worse than Remus. Did you hear about the last time he transformed with the pack? He set himself up as Alpha in Fenrir's territory without even meaning to – nearly died of his injuries the next morning. He sent me a letter a week after." Sirius grit his teeth, James grimacing at the thought of how angry Sirius would be at his partner when he finally returned – if he returned at all._

 _"_ _He sent me one too. Was yours perfectly clean too?" Sirius nodded, both knowing that meant it had something on it that Remus hadn't wanted them to see – blood, most likely. The two brooded for a moment, before looking to Athena, who looked positively flabbergasted._

 _"_ _How do you not get in trouble for this?"_

 _James shrugged, "You-Know-Who's after us. Sirius here, he's my only contact to the outside world – my wife, son and I haven't seen anyone since we went into hiding except Sirius. It gets lonely – we're lucky we get letters at all. Sirius is amazing about getting them to us, and dealing with the dangerous packages people try to send our way. But even then…" James sighed. "Let's just say, you'd be the only one able to tell anyone that we willingly talk to a werewolf." At that, Athena seemed confused, before her eyes narrowed._

 _"_ _A question: you say only I know of this. So, when I go, will you disappear? Will you still be here if I decided to return?"_

 _James didn't like the look in her eyes. It reminded him too much of Dumbledore – scheming, potentially even manipulative. Bobbing in the water, James decided to float backwards, to another bench, nodding. Sirius started up a conversation with the woman, James only occasionally adding to his tall stories about the things they'd done, or witnessed. Athena, he noted, liked the stories about David – seeming even more impressed with Sirius and James as the former boasted about the things David had done with his magic, fondly calling him his little devil._

 _"_ _He's_ _ **my**_ _son, remember," James chuckled._

 _Sirius scoffed, "He's my son too. Lovely Lily doesn't know what hit her – he'll grow up to be just like us."_

 _"_ _Let's hope Lily and Remus rub off on him," James smirked fondly, "Remember just who got us out of trouble with Minnie, Padfoot."_

 _Sirius paused, before nodding, "Yeah, just like us, but with Lily and Remus' tendency to be elected to watch over newbies, with the power of a teacher. He'll get in so much trouble, and no-one will know – we'll teach him that we have to pry everything from him."_

 _James nodded firmly, looking at his brother in all but blood with determination. "And that he has to keep his secrets even better than you do." The_ _ **Secret-Keeper**_ _title Sirius donned went unsaid in front of strangers._

 _Sirius' eyes glinted, and both men though of Peter in that moment, and their plot, soon to be put in motion._

 _"_ _Aye. We'll teach him."_

 _"_ _That we will."_

* * *

Those of you who can extrapolate from what you already know, adding what James noticed all those years ago, might have already guessed that Athena had a plan in motion. You have to remember – Athena is not human, and one of her domains of power is Battle Strategy. Transferring that knowledge to plain old _knowledge_ , plus misunderstood names and _nicknames_ …well.

Maybe the game would have been up if James hadn't called Minerva McGonagall, 'Minnie' – if James had said he was in contact with Minerva, when _Minerva_ sat across from him.

As it was, Athena never had any reason to suspect that Sirius and James were anything other than similar beings of power – Gods, if you will. Sirius would have gotten a kick out of that, for sure, if the trio had ever properly explained themselves. But that didn't happen. What _did_ happen was that Athena, James and Sirius spent an evening with the Goddess of Wisdom, somehow talking about everything, yet nothing, two sides having two different conversations that somehow didn't fracture.

The result?

On February nineteenth, Lorelei, daughter of Athena, appeared on the doorstep of Glamorgan Estate.

* * *

Number four was quiet. The lights were off, not having been turned on once it got dark. Lorie presumed people would think they left for Blackpool early, until they heard about Uncle Vernon. Going up to her room showed, though, that not everything was as it seemed.

Firstly, there was Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's dead bodies on their bed.

Secondly, _there was Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's dead bodies on their bed!_

Lorie had nearly screamed, before remembering she had to stay quiet. She had to get her things and- and get Dudley. And get out of the area. This 'Dead Zone' – if it was the reason all the monsters had come after her, Lorie didn't want to be anywhere near it.

She had to get her things, find Dudley, and find her way to Diagon Alley.

"Mum's diary said it was on Charing Cross," Lorie muttered hazily as she unzipped her suitcase for Blackpool, "Charing Cross is in London, and if I get to London it'll be a lot easier to blend in, unless my face is blaring across billboards." Uncle Vernon's body couldn't be in two places at once. His car was a different thing, but if his body was in number four, it couldn't be on the motorway.

"Hopefully," Lorie paused to take a breather. Her life was falling down around her. She was a witch. Zoe was leaving. Her aunt and uncle were _dead_. Dudley was missing. She had to pack up.

Standing up from the ground, Lorie collected things she knew she couldn't be without – her letters, her favourite book, hairbands and scrunchies, sanitary products, cleaners for her pointe shoes, her _actual_ pointe shoes, old and new, the pocket-knife Dudley had entrusted her with, for her own protection. He'd taught her how to box too, a little, and defend herself a different way that Officer Staffox did. _I should get some things for him too._

Going to Dudley's room was though, as per usual, a task. He didn't clean his room, leaving things lying on the floor. Lorie held her nose the entire time, finding his Blackpool suitcase under his bed. She made sure to add a few other things to it as well – things like the extra-large pack of batteries he kept for his video-game consoles, and his secret stash of high-quality weed and flip-knives. The weed could get her a lot of money in London, if Dudley could be found. She didn't run in those circles, despite her knowledge of them – Dudley's gang knew to defend her, for example, and anyone in both Little and Greater Whinging would tell you not to pick on her, unless you wanted half the county teens on your arse.

 _Money, I need money_. Lorie went to her aunt and uncle's room, avoiding the bodies as she went to their closet, searching through it, top to bottom. She hit gold inside a hat-box, and made a note to empty her savings account too, before she left for London.

Once back in her bedroom, Lorie swept through it, picking up any little things she felt certain nostalgia for, eventually having to go grab a large suitcase for her own things, before she faced the dilemma that was actually leaving, which presented its own problems.

"Getting two suitcases out of _this_ neighbourhood," Lorie wondered, before hearing a familiar _meow_. Looking to her window, Lorie breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Nimkee, rushing over to open the glass and look at what she had in her mouth. Nimkee dropped it into her hands before jumping down, padding over to her waiting suitcases, sitting up on top primly. Lorie spared her a look before analysing the fabric.

The first thing she noticed was the blood-stain. Then she realised it was still warm. Lorie looked to Nimkee, holding it up.

"Where did you get this?"

" _Mraow_ ," _Use it to find him._

Lorie huffed, "It doesn't work like that. I asked _you_ to find him."

" _Meow!" Magically find him!_

"But I don't know _how_ , Nimkee – and this is warm! That means he's somewhere nearby, right?" Nimkee then did the equivalent of rolling her eyes, jumping down behind the suitcases into the shadows. She didn't come out. Lorie stepped forwards. "Nimkee?"

" _Meow_." Lorie spun around, going to the window. She gaped at the cat that now strolled out of the bushes.

"You're a magic cat…oh my god, you're a kneazle, you're a _kneazle!_ " Lorie rushed to her suitcase, unzipping the front pocket and taking out her mothers journal, flipping through the pages, quickly finding the page she wrote on her new ginger kneazle by the name of Robert. " _The shop owners said that kneazles are very, VERY clever creatures, and that they have magical powers – they're very mean to suspicious and distrustful people, and they can guide their owners home, too. The younger shop-keeper said that sometimes, they even have magic of their own, if they're a pure kneazle and not a half-cat, or have cat ancestry._ "

Nimkee meowed again, right in front of her. Lorie shut the diary slowly, staring at the cat – the _kneazle_ , because she was one, definitely.

"You always were not like the others at Mrs Figg's," Lorie stated, before putting the diary away. Nimkee meowed again, resting her chin against Lorie's hand as she rested it on the suitcase, Dudley's in contact with her shin. Abruptly, she remembered an incident when she was six, and Dudley's friends were all on a visit to an aquarium, and nasty primary four boys had been chasing her.

She'd teleported home.

"How do I do it?" Lorie asked her friend, desperate to know. This could save so much _time_. But Nimkee shook her head, pressing her chin to her hand again. Suddenly all her thoughts were focused on _Dudley_. _Dudley, Dudley, Dudley, Dudley…_

Lorie only snapped out of it when she and the suitcases went tumbling down onto concrete.

"Oomph!" Lorie blinked away the haze of concentration, turning onto her butt and looking to Nimkee dazedly as the cat padded over, curling up on her lap. Lorie stared.

"Well, what you doing back 'ere, lassie?" A voice caused her to jump, head snapping up in the direction of it. A man stood in a doorway, dirty apron wrapped around his waist, box in hand. "I saw you arrive – pretty powerful beast you got there. Triple-X classification though, if I remember correctly. The Ministry don't like me having that kind of beast in my building."

"The Ministry…" Lorie gathered Nimkee in her arms, swallowing as she stood shakily, feeling like all her energy had drained out of her. "That wouldn't happen to be the Ministry of Magic, sir?"

"Aye, 'tis." The man bobbed his head, walking over and placing the box on a shelf just to her left. "I'm Old Tom – I run the Leaky."

 _The Leaky Cauldron,_ Lorie's eyes widened. "Could I get a room? I only have muggle money, but-"

He glanced at her, interrupting, "I usually employ my new sweep after the Hogwarts letters have come out, snatch up the squibs. New one every year. You get a room and board, provided you do some work for me, and if you quit, you pay a galleon for every month you didn't fulfil in your yearly contract." Lorie hesitated.

"What's a squib?"

Tom squinted at her, "Are you a witch, or aren't you?"

"I'm not a muggle," Lorie gave him, slightly fearful, "I- I'm thirteen. I think someone's playing a joke on me though – I don't attend Hogwarts, or I didn't, I don't know. Just- look." She juggled Nimkee in her arms, reaching to her suitcase, unzipping the pocket and pulling out the envelope from 'Hogwarts'. "I _just_ got it this morning."

Tom took it, flipping through the pieces of parchment. "You say you're thirteen, eh? Odd, that. I'll make you a deal – sweep floors till the twenty-seventh of August, and I'll give you room and board, and let you use my owl to contact Professor McGonagall." He lifted the letter, pointing at her, eyes stern. "But you be good. And don't leave the Leaky without telling me where you're going first. And tell the kneazle to pretend she's a half-breed in front of company, for her own safety. Now, what's your name? I didn't read it off the letter."

Lorie took the envelope back, tucking it away in her hoodie. "Lorie. Lorie Potter."

Tom blinked. "Beg your pardon, miss? Lorie _Potter?_ As in, Lorelei Potter?"

Lorie flushed, "Uh, yeah."

"Oh my, we must get you away – now, before Dumbledore finds out you're here!" Tom took her wrist, a stick coming to his hand. He flicked it, causing her suitcases to fly up into the air, before Tom pulled her out of the store-room, suitcases following.

"What- where are we going? What's wrong with Dumbledore?"

Tom motioned for her to be quiet, peering through a crack in the door. He grimaced. "Full bar. I can't leave." He turned to her, looking at her in a very serious manner. "Miss Lorelei, you must get to Gringotts. Your safety is at sake."

"My safety?" Lorie didn't understand – wasn't this Dumbledore man _good?_ Aunt Petunia had hated him, but Lorie always thought she was biased.

Tom shook his head, "There is no time to explain. The long and short of it, lassie, is that Dumbledore hid you from all magical sight – no-one knew where you were, and even when Lord Potter ordered him as a vassal of House Potter to return you to him, Dumbledore refused. That man is on thin ice when it comes to you, Miss, but many are loyal to him. Gringotts is the _only_ place where you are safe, until the public is informed of your reappearance, and you are presented to your Lord."

Lorie's hackles rose at that, "My _Lord?_ What the hell does that mean?"

Tom shook his head, "Apologies, miss – I mean, until you are reunited with your _brother_."

Lorie froze. "David."

"Aye, miss, but now you must go to Gringotts." He looked around, before grabbing a large green cloak and draping it over her shoulders, tying it around her neck. The fabric reached the floor, but after Tom waved his stick – _his wand?_ – it shortened. "Now, I'll escort you to the wall and open up the alley – but I can't go with you. Gringotts is at the very end of the alley – you can't miss it."

"Okay," Lorie swallowed, before reaching up to untuck her hoodie's actual hood from the cloak, brushing her loose bun. Unfortunately, with the events of the day since she last retied it, the scrunchies had loosened, and it came out, her hair falling around her face. The flash of fear on Tom's face surprised Lorie – was there something wrong? "Tom?"

"Miss- Miss Lorelei," he said in a hush, eyes wide, "I would recommend keeping your hair tied back. You…you resemble a- a supposedly distant relative of yours. A many-times cousin. It should be impossible…but people would be very scared should they see you like this." He audibly gulped, breathing slightly ragged as he reached for his wand, tapping her head. Lorie let out a pained gasp as her hair was pulled back tighter than she'd ever had it before. _Is that a French braid?_ "My granddaughter says I put too much power into it, but she never complains about how long it takes to untie itself."

Lorie ran a hand over the ridges and bumps of the braided hair, nodding. "Thank-you…so, Gringotts, you said?" She just had to make sure…

"It's run by goblins. The Goblin Horde live beneath us, amongst the vaults holding our currency. It's why we don't contest a lot of things with them, nowadays at least. Follow me." Tom took her hand again, leading her out of the door, from behind the bar to another door a few feet to its left. People called for Tom, for a firewhiskey, or mead, and Lorie thought it slightly medieval as she got her first proper look at this magical world.

They entered a small courtyard. Tom raised his wand to a wall, tapping certain bricks – Lorie purposefully memorised the pattern – and then stepping back as an archway formed. Lorie watched, enthralled, before Tom came down to her level, pointing to a far-off building lit with flaming torches, moonlight reflecting off the white marble.

"That is Gringotts. Enter, and say you seek Sanctuary from the Goblin Horde. Tell them who you are. They'll protect you, Miss Lorelei." He looked into her eyes, frowning only very slightly. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were Sirius Black's daughter – not James Potter's, though he's certainly there in your face." Lorie let him look a little longer before finally nodding and detaching her limbs from him, only just then noticing her suitcases still following her. Tom waved, before the archway shut, and Lorelei was left in the near-empty street.

Breathing in, trying to be more confident, Lorie walked towards the bank, wondering if the goblins would be able to find Dudley. She held Nimkee closer to her chest, the scrap of fabric the kneazle had brought to her crushed in her hand. _She must have found Dudley using the shadows_ , Lorie figured. She'd gotten distracted earlier – a usual occurrence – when trying to figure out how Nimkee had gotten the fabric.

Once she got to the steps of the large, tilting building, Lorie hesitated, glancing around. Was this really what she should do? What if 'seeking Sanctuary from the Goblin Horde' meant she'd be stuck with them for the rest of her life? Could she even trust Tom?

Her instincts scoffed at her for that last question.

 _No, Tom is good, he wouldn't lead me astray, and mum mentioned the Horde before in her writing…_ Lorie went up the steps, walking through the doors, and then the second set. The room was lined with desks, which were filled by what could only be goblins. Approaching the nearest one, she opened her mouth to speak, only for it to boredly speak.

"Gringotts Bank is not open in the hours after six pm, except on Thursday, when it is open to eight pm. Good evening."

Lorie stood in silence for a few seconds longer, before speaking tentatively. "My name is Lorelei Potter. I seek Sanctuary from the Goblin Horde." Immediately, the room was in chaos. A claxon sounded, and the two sets of doors slammed shut. Within thirty seconds, armed guards were surrounding her, spears creating a bubble. Her suitcases dropped to the ground, and the goblin that she had spoken to gaped at her, before seeming to gain some form of cognitive function, speaking again.

"Who dares claim Sanctuary from the Goblin Horde?"

"My name is Lorelei Potter," she repeated, playing with her fingers, cracking them. "I was told to come here so Dumbledore-" the goblins began to hiss, shouting at her in a harsh, strange language. The goblin above her leaned forwards, glaring.

"We do not speak the names of criminals that run free rather than be imprisoned by order of the Crown."

 _The Crown?_ "I was told to come here until everything was sorted out, so the…criminal, can't get to me."

"You said you were named Lorelei Potter. By this do you mean you are Lorelei Sophie, Lady Heiress of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, future Earl of Glamorgan?"

Lorie blinked rapidly, before remembering what Tom had said. _My brother is Lord Potter_. "I- I do. I am Lorelei Sophie Potter…though I prefer Lorie Potter."

"Heiress Potter," a new voice called out, the bubble of spears popping as a goblin with a face full of scars, armour decking them head to toe, walked towards her, eyeing her shrewdly. "I am Chief Ragnar. Before the Horde grants you Sanctuary, I will be asking you some questions. If I like your answers, then I won't cut off your head for unnecessarily claiming Sanctuary here."

Lorie paled.

"My first question: where did you live and who raised you?"

"I- I lived in Li-" then it was as if her tongue was stuck to the top of her mouth. She choked, trying to get the word out, before giving up and trying a different path. "The sub-town of Greater Whinging, in Sur-" it happened again, and Lorie grit her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut. "I live in the sub-town of Greater Whinging, in the county that is South of London County, on the street with a phonetic spelling of 'private', at the house beside both numbers two and six. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, Vernon and Petunia Dur-" She was unable to say any more.

Ragnar looked pleased at her answer – if pleased on goblin faces looked the same as it did on human ones.

"How did you get from there to here?"

Lorie lifted Nimkee slightly. "This is my kneazle. I accidentally stole her from Mrs Figg. Or she stole me – I don't know. But I appeared in the Leaky Cauldron, and then I walked."

"Interesting…a pure-bred kneazle. A strange choice in companion," Ragnar dismissed their own words, before walking around Lorie, poking her at random with their sharp claw, being careful not to touch Nimkee. "Third question: why is there foreign blood around you? And the stench of monster? Did you defeat an enemy? Were there casualties?"

Lorie drew in a tight breath, pulling herself together. "I lived in what the monsters liked to call a Dead Zone. They kidnap me, so they can get me out of it. I always escape. Always. But the one that got me today killed my aunt and uncle. My cousin – the blood is my cousins. I don't know where he is." She showed them the red-splattered fabric, the goblin taking it roughly, smelling it. It sneered, before throwing it at a nearby goblin.

"Find her cousin. If he isn't found before dawn, you will be sacrificed to the gods for his return." Then, the room cleared, the goblins filing out one by one, until only Ragnar was left. They took off their armour, dropping it in a pile beside them, looking satisfied. "It is good to see Lily Evans' magic-child. Your magic-mother was a Goblin Friend, and she earned it twice over – so, unless you are a disrespectful louse, you are a Goblin Friend too. Kneel down, and tilt your head to the side."

Lorie, not wanting her head cut off, knelt and tilted her head. The goblin took out a metal seal of a complicated backwards logo – the same one at the very end of the aisle, covering the entirety of the large wall above the highest podium – and pressed it against her neck.

"What-" she started, only for it to transform into a yell as the metal suddenly burned white hot. She tried to pull away, but the goblin followed her easily, keeping the seal in place for a few more seconds, before removing it. The pain was so intense that Lorie nearly didn't spot the quite literally white-hot metal cool instantly in the goblin's hand, before they tucked it into their pocket, and Lorie passed out.

* * *

Lorie awoke due to being licked in the face. Not being used to this, Lorie took a moment to realise she was actually awake, before shrieking and whacking at the weight on her chest, sitting up. Nimkee skittered off, onto the ground, hissing.

"Oh! Oh, Nim, I'm so sorry!" Lorie got off the bed, pushing covers away, only to trip up as her foot caught on a stone ridge. Crashing to the floor, Lorie let out a pained noise as her knees hit concrete – Zoe would _kill_ her if they bled – before looking up and around.

She seemed to be in some kind of cave that was a cross between a traditional stone-everything, a movie potions lab, and a make-shift hospital. Her bed was stone, but had a clean mattress with the kind of starched sheets and pillows that reminded Lorie of a hospital, and a nearby metal torch – like, a metal pole with _fire_ in the top – had what looked like a vaguely accurate assessment of all her previous injuries from over the years all neatly drawn onto a diagram, along with numbers that changed, going up and down. The movie potions lab part came from the circular stone table in the middle of the admittedly quite-large room, covered in dried ingredients and jars and actual cauldrons and cutting boards and a set of knives that looked _nothing_ like kitchen knives.

"Oh, you're awake, great." Lorie's head twisted sideways, to where a robed (?) goblin came walking in through a cloth-covered archway. "How long have you been up? And is that blood I smell? Brilliant, you've already injured yourself. Back on the bed, wix." Befuddled, Lorie got back on the bed, Nimkee coming to join her as the goblin bustled about, grumbling under its breath.

Then Lorie made a slight discovery – she was in a cloth hospital gown. With no underwear. Eyes wide, Lorie got more fully onto the bed, pulling the covers over her legs, all the way up to her waist, trying not to be too panicked by the revelation.

The goblin glanced over, rolling its eyes, "You humans and _modesty_. You think we care about human anatomy? It's the same in every species. You have a hole that gets stuffed with-"

"Glassbord!" Another goblin interrupted sharply, storming into the cave. "I don't _believe_ you! You said that you'd assigned someone to her! You aren't _allowed_ patients!"

"And why's that?" The first goblin – Glassbord – muttered darkly.

The second goblin rolled their eyes sarcastically, "I do not know. Maybe it is because your bedside manner is _atrocious_ when it comes to anyone, let alone human guests? Get out. _Now_." Glassbord gave the goblin a nasty look before leaving, the second goblin turning to Lorie after they did.

"Apologies for him. He is been banned from having patients for another two hundred years – it is distressing for him, seeing as he is Primary Healer for the Capitol and has been for over a thousand years. He is supposed to assign his direct subordinates to VIP's." The goblin stomped over, resting a fist over their heart. "I am Silverblood, Denary Healer of the Goblin Capitol. I have self-assigned myself to you, as you may have witnessed. You are Heiress Potter."

"…hello. Where are my clothes?"

"Your belongings were secured this morning by an associate of Lord Potter's and were taken to Greenhaven Estate, where Lord Potter has resided since his seventh year of life. As you are a Sanctuary Seeker, clothing and other effects have been created in your honour, to the specifications sent out by Primary Healer Glassbord."

"Oh," Lorie thought of all her belongings – Dudley's belongings. She itched to have them, and it was upsetting to find she had no way to access them. "When will…Lord Potter, see me?" _He must have woken up. 'Since his seventh year of life'…David's been out of his coma for eight years._ It hurt more than she thought it would.

"I am not authorised to speak of such matters," Silverblood stated, before poking the parchment on the torch. "Your magic has accepted the Goblin Sigil, and your body has settled into it in much a similar way that Lily Evans did. You are a demigod, Roman, if this chart was cast correctly…which it was not." Silverblood scowled, before slashing the parchment, causing the paper to shrivel into flames and turn to ash. "Glassbord forgets that consent is just as much needed as the results."

Lorie stiffened, "What did he do?"

"Nothing I don't wish to perform, though I would prefer to have permission," Silverblood stated simply, before holding a hand to her forehead. Lorie stayed absolutely still, not sure what was happening. "Heiress, are you properly informed?"

Lorie shook her head mutely.

Silverblood took away their hand, snapping their fingers. A chair appeared behind them, and they sat down.

"I am of the Goblin Horde. I live in the Goblin Capitol, Gringotts. I am the Denary Healer of Gringotts. I am named Silverblood. You may call me either Denary Healer, or simply Healer. Unless invited, you may not use my name, in opposition to the other goblins you have yet to meet. If they wish to be called by their rank, you will respect this, as your respect for names is as vital as your respect for a person. Do you understand?"

The young witch nodded, after a moment, "Yes, Denary Healer."

Silverblood made a decisive movement with their hand that was rather strange. "This is the goblin hand-signal for 'come here'. If you see this after your name is called, Heiress, you must go to the one calling. It is rude not to. To greet a goblin and to say farewell to a goblin, in formal settings, you say things such as 'may your vaults never run dry', or 'may your enemies fall swiftly at your hand'."

"Both as a hello and goodbye?" Lorie questioned slowly.

"Yes," Silverblood held out an open palm. "As Denary Healer of Gringotts, I request your permission to be your personal healer, when you roam these caverns. If you accept my offer, please say so. If you do not, push my hand away."

Lorie pursed her lips, before nodding slowly. _Rule Two: always give everything at least two…chances. Silverblood seems better than the other one, at least._ "I accept your offer."

Silverblood pulled away their hand, nodding before standing. "Stay silent, and still as you can be without causing yourself undue mental suffering because of your warriors blood."

"Okay," Lorie bit her lip, still nervous. Silverblood rested a hand against her forehead. "Will it hurt?"

"Will what hurt?"

"Whatever you're doing."

Silverblood let out a short laugh – it was more of a screech, but it was still a laugh. "Oh, you ignorant child – if I do something, you won't be awake to feel _anything_. I'm knocking you out." _What? Shit, no-_

And then everything went dark.

She had to _do_ something about that.

* * *

Demeter had a fondness for human farmers. Obviously. They took care of their crops, and _usually_ knew what they were doing, unlike the rest of their kind. She liked gardeners even more, though the distinct lack of true harvest let farmers find a place in her list of attractive human professions alongside them.

One such farmer that had attracted her attention was an Irish man by the name of Joseph. For Demeter, it was simple. He had the kind of traits she liked, enough money to support someone, and as a bonus, a spinster-sister who once admitted to wanting a child of her own, yet didn't have the right preference to get around to having one. Their boarder – and the spinster-sister's secret lover – was a lovely lady, too, and had two of her own children, neither of them demigods. And it wasn't like there were any monsters who preferred to roam Ireland left in the green country that Demeter could detect, at least, so giving Joseph a demigod son was a good bet. He'd be safe, cared for – and if his father ran off, then there were two lovely mother's waiting to take care of him.

So, Demeter had a child with him, and dropped the baby boy off. Unfortunately, when Demeter went to meet him little over fourteen years later to tell him to go to Camp Half-Blood – a little late, she knew, but to be honest she was a bit busy looking after his American siblings, who were easily scented and hunted by monster – he was nowhere to be found.

It was safe to say, Demeter was worried.

Luckily, he came back in the winter holidays. When he _did_ , Demeter appeared in front of his family and nearly got killed for it, as five sticks were whipped out from nowhere, four sending debilitating curses at her. Only her Godly reflexes saved her from a…well, let's just say that _this_ family? It dealt with a lot of prejudice, and they were used to defending themselves from very angry _mobs_.

So after saving herself from a potentially very grisly set of injuries, Demeter managed to explain – somehow, she doesn't know, _a lot was happening_ – that she was her son's mother, and that she was a Goddess, and that she had come to invite her son to Camp Half-Blood in America for the summer so he could learn to defend himself against monsters, slipping in the fact that he would get to learn how to use swords.

Boys liked swords, right?

"Why would I want to learn how to use a sword when I can use magic?" Her son questioned, accent thick. Demeter's hopes dropped slightly, her worry increasing – but her curiosity _spiking_.

"How do you know how to wield magic?" Demeter asked in return. His father, Joseph, huffed, before looking to his sister.

"You get to explain everything to me. I'm going for a pint." Joseph left without so much as another word, Demeter blinking in surprise.

"He's changed," she said starkly. Joseph's sister rolled her eyes.

"Well, getting a kid dropped on you that you didn't want or need at the time does that to you – no offense, Seamus," the woman glanced to the boy.

Seamus Finnegan shook his head.

"No problem, mammy – and put your wand away." He sat down at the table, where they'd been eating lunch before Demeter appeared. "Liam, Sorley, mam, put your wands away too. I want to hear what she has to say." He looked to Demeter. "Here, sit in dad's seat," he motioned to the one beside him, moving Joseph's plate towards the middle of the table. Demeter sat. "So, explain yourself. Why'd you leave me here? It wasn't horrible, or anything – I wouldn't give this up for nothing – but still, you're my bio mam. And apparently a Goddess. Which one?"

Demeter gave a tight smile. "I am Demeter, Goddess of Agriculture, Fertility, Sacred Law, Harvest and the Seasons. The Ancient Laws which preside over all of my pantheon state that we are to have minimal contact with our demigod children, unless we are in battle, so I could not raise you. You say your life was not _horrible_ – it is comforting to hear." Demeter wanted to ask about his magic, but instead looked to his family. "Might I know who each of you are?"

The woman who had spoken before puffed up, "I'm Mary Finnegan – Joseph's sister. This here is my wife, Shannon, and our kids, Liam and Sorley – and they _are_ our kids. Shannon and I went to school together, magic school, and in the Wixen World you can have a kid between two ladies, and two men, and anything in between, so they're mine, you hear? And Seamus, too."

Demeter did hear.

"Did you say _wixen?_ " Demeter said, shocked. "But all the wix are dead!"

Seamus snorted, poking her with his wand, "Yeah, nah. I got my letter like everyone else here but you, and I'm going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm a fourth year."

Demeter stood abruptly. "I have to go. This- this is momentous. So many children…we didn't stay here long, because they kept disappearing. But it's like the days of old – wix, and demigods-that-were-wix. My apologies, my most sincere apologies – but I must inform the rest of the Olympians of this discovery, immediately." She reached over to Seamus, pressing a kiss to his forehead, causing him to glow a light gold briefly. "My Blessing. You most likely have some form of dangerous trouble when it comes to an aspect of magic. It is because it clashes with your nature as a demigod. This will settle it. I will have Chiron send you instruction leaflets on demigod safety."

"Wait, don't go yet-" Seamus' eyes went wide, but Demeter was already rushing out of the door, disappearing to Olympus once she was out of their sight. Seamus looked to his adoptive mothers. "She left."

Liam snorted, "Of course she did. Didn't you hear her? They thought the wix extinct. That's like…" his eyes went wide. "That's like discovering the Gods exist."

Silence reigned.


	3. Whack-a-God

- **Chapter Three** -

So.

Things have begun.

Minor overview: the Gods are being informed that the wix still live, Athena is Lorie's mother, and Lorie herself is basically being manhandled and knocked unconscious every day or so. Thankfully, though, soon she'll get to reunite and go to Hogwarts with her brother, David. But I must say, it'll be interesting to see how David reacts to his genius sister with her fancy GSCE's being taken a few years early, and in so many subjects, especially with the 'two year age gap'.

Why I use quote marks is _so_ funny. You'll get it later. For now, either research or dig around in those pretty brains of yours for information on demigod children of Athena. Hehe.

Oh look, another flashback.

* * *

 _"_ _Your reincarnation is astounding, son."_

 _Remus startled, turning sharply, amber eyes widening at the sight of the huge, tall-as-telephone-boxes, red-furred wolf, no other human in sight. Was he going mad? Was this part of being a werewolf?_

 _"_ _You are not going mad," the wolf approached, causing him to scatter back, blood pumping in fear, breath coming quickly. "Though, it is strange that you call yourself a were, when you are not at all like those I have met before- stand still, boy."_

 _Without thinking, Remus stopped moving, freezing and lowering himself, bending his back as fingers dug into the soft earth. A quiet whine escaped his throat as the wolf approached, fear radiating from him._

 _"_ _I will not hurt you, son, for you are mine and I do not hurt my own. Hush now." The wolf came close, seeming to shrink, tongue licking him tenderly. Remus swallowed, not understanding. The wolf seemed to sense his confusion and backed away. "Sleep, child – in the morning, you will be safe in your bed."_

 _"_ _I can't go home," he murmured, eyes already fluttering shut. Everything was fading, and he could feel the ground against his cheek. "I can't go home…"_

 _"_ _I never said you were going home, Remus, son of Mars."_

* * *

She'd been in Gringotts a week now, and neither Dudley nor David had been brought to her. Lorie had been placed in her own set of chambers, in the custody of a strict goblin woman, who didn't let her speak in English. It was Ancient Greek, Greek or Gobbledegook. Or sign language – the goblin woman allowed that, surprisingly.

Lorie was eager though to actually meet her brother, and low-key, still worried over her cousin. He might be an arse, but he was her family. But not really. But he was, because she had grown up with him. Apparently, Lorie was Greek (?) and Lily Potter…wasn't her mother. That blew a lot of the wind out her sails. James was still her father – she wouldn't be able to open the Potter vaults otherwise, and on that matter, it seemed that as both a distant relative of Sirius Black and his goddaughter, she could open the Black vaults too.

Goblins weren't really that good at sharing information when it didn't come in the form of explaining her assets. That was one of the few times Lorie was allowed to ask questions.

"Lady Heiress of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, future Earl of Glamorgan," she muttered sarcastically, now knowing that unless David deemed it okay, she wasn't getting anywhere near the piles of gold inside the caches beneath her. The titles meant nothing too, unless David died without an heir. When he _did_ get an heir, her title would change completely, to whatever David deemed fit. "Good thing I'm here, then, the goblins are looking after me at least…" Lorie's eyes trailed back to the book on her lap.

Was it weird for her to say that her head hurt less when she read Greek, despite her only small amount of knowledge on how to understand the language?

" ** _Na ziseis Lorelei kai xronia polla, megalos na gineis me aspra mallia. Pantou na charizeis tis gnosis to fos, kai oloi na lene na enas sofos_** **…** " Lorie sung to herself, wanting to feel proud of herself, but finding it difficult. _Yes. Happy birthday to me._ Thirteen, at last. Sighing, the witch shut the book, getting up and wandering around her cave – sorry, _room_. She shut her eyes in sudden panic, wanting to see the sun, wanting to stand on the top of a hill and lean into the wind. _I want out of here!_ She mentally screamed.

Instantly, Nimkee was by her side, meowing. _Lorelei._

"Oh, Nimkee," Lorie swept the kneazle up, holding her close, eyes watering. "I just need to go outside, just for a minute. Please, can't you take me?"

"Mrow," _I would advise against it right now, mistress._ "Mreow." _The tides are shifting, and magic is changing. Fates and destinies are realigning._ Lorie whimpered.

"How long?"

"Meow."

 _One day._

"One day, I can do one more day," Lorie whispered, "One day more. One more day…one day more…"

* * *

"Majority vote falls on the side of letting the notion pass." Dumbledore banged his gavel, face a blank slate as David grit his teeth, fist clenching.

"Calm down, Lord Potter," Augusta scoffed from his right, Neville wincing at her rough demeanour. "There's nothing wrong with lowering the charges for muggle-baiting. We live in a modern time."

The fifteen year old glanced at his brother, Neville not even hiding his cringe. _Stand up for me, stand up for yourself_ , David thought at him. _Neville, come on…_

"The Wixengamot will take a short break."

The room filled with chatter quickly. David's other neighbour, Ratheborn Nott, leant over.

"Potter, a word."

David twisted in his seat, wandlessly activating the privacy wards between their seats, usually meant for when Lord's Decisions were decided between Allies, during Court. Over the years, David had learnt to listen to Nott and take lessons from his whispers, if not heed his council. Ratheborn's sons and immediate family might have been Death Eater's without Ratheborn's permission, but that didn't mean he didn't subscribe to pureblood ideals.

"What is it, Nott?"

Ratheborn's eyes flashed, "You heard about Gringotts, I'll assume?" David nodded, face tight – the bank had been shut for eight days now, and it was causing unrest. " _I_ heard that a young girl was told by Old Tom to claim Sanctuary – I _also_ heard that this young girl looks suspiciously like Bellatrix Lestrange."

David stared.

"I know, it's seemingly vague, and people see what they want to, but I'm quite sure this person had it right – they _even_ got a picture. Look." Ratheborn took one from his pocket, passing it over. David took it, frowning at the side-shot of the black-haired girl, kneazle companion drawing his sight just as much as her familiar profile.

"Has the rumour been shut down yet?"

"No, of course not, that's impossible. But I did manage to slow it down – everyone will know within the month, rather than three days ago."

David snorted, "Three? More like six, and that's including all the old nags who don't speak to people regularly. The _Daily Prophet_ has been paid off?"

"For the time being. I know how you hate it when Death Eater's get publicity," Ratheborn smirked, before motioning to the picture. "Keep it." Ratheborn reached over, manually tapping the privacy runes, causing the bubble to pop. David nodded to him, turning back around to the Longbottom's.

"What was that about?" Neville whispered.

"Nothing. I'll tell you later," David promised, focused on the picture. Ratheborn wouldn't have let him take it for no reason. _What does he see that I don't?_ Tucking it away, David looked up, going to ask Augusta about her latest opinion on mundanes, when his mouth went dry as the Court was suddenly invaded by a parade of goblins.

With Chief Ragnar and the girl, the one of who David had a picture of in his robe-pocket, in the middle of their formation.

"Oh my," Augusta muttered as the room fell silent. The goblins' armour was the only thing that made noise, before Dumbledore's gravel thumped down thrice.

"The Court welcomes the Goblin Nation. May your silver and gold forever be abundant."

David watched the goblins carefully, noting how they sneered at Dumbledore. _Still after Queen's Justice_ , he smirked, knowing it was exactly what Dumbledore deserved from keeping his sister from him – even if she _was_ a squib.

"The Goblin Nation calls for a different Chief Warlock to preside," Ragnar didn't have to bellow – the courtroom echoed nicely enough.

"Is that necessary?" Dumbledore questioned. Ragnar merely repeated her words. "Of course, of course…Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, calls for a secondary Warlock. Who volunteers from amongst the Lords and Ladies?"

Across the hall, Lord Greengrass stood, causing many to subtly nod. He waited a moment, before speaking. "Lord Cyrus of House Greengrass volunteers to preside."

Dumbledore looked over the room. "Are there any other volunteers? No? Are there any objections towards Lord Greengrass presiding?" Silence. Dumbledore stood. "Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, hands over control of the room to Lord Greengrass, now until the end of the session to be addressed as Warlock Greengrass." Dumbledore stepped down, seating himself with the Minister and his Cabinet.

Greengrass walked down and over, skirting the goblins as he approached the podium. David watched as he placed his hand against the seal of the Wixengamot, the seal glowing softly before fading. Satisfied, Greengrass went up to the podium, sitting down and banging the gravel.

"Warlock Greengrass, now presiding. Chief Ragnar, may your enemies bleed out and your assets forever be yours."

Ragnar raised her chin, looking almost smug. "Warlock Greengrass. May your family live on, and your vaults never run dry. The Goblin Nation wishes to pass over the asylum of Lady Heiress Lorelei Sophie of House Potter to Lord David Fleamont of House Potter." David jolted, eyes whipping to the girl in the middle of the armoured guards, noise sweeping through the room. Over in the Press block, what few reporters that sat within hurriedly started scribbling, knowing now that this was more than just a few dodgy laws being passed by the Wixengamot.

To his credit, David didn't immediately rush down to her or shout – but he was sorely, _sorely_ tempted. Instead, he stood.

"Lord David Fleamont of House Potter hears the Goblin Nation's wish and accepts, wholeheartedly."

Lorelei turned, and David got his first look at her in eleven years.

At first, David was very surprised, because she looked nothing – absolutely _nothing_ – like their mother, and even more _Black_ than Potter. The sides of her hair were pulled back into hundreds of little braids intricately woven into wavy lines, the rest pulled back with the ends of the braids into a compact twist. Dark grey eyes met his hazel and emerald green, surrounded by dark powder.

From the photo in his pocket, David guessed that the goblins had done her up to look intimidating in front of the Wixengamot, because the longing, the happiness at seeing him – the emotion in those eyes did not match the image in front of them all today.

"The Goblin Nation hears Lord David Fleamont and requests a moment for some other transactions before officialising the trade of Lady Heiress Lorelei Sophie from the Goblin Nation to House Potter, under Lord David Fleamont."

David nodded, "Of course." He sat, not taking his eyes off of Lorelei. _I'm never going to let you go again, I promise you, sister. You will want for nothing, and you shall be as safe as I can provide._

"-and calls for Albus Dumbledore to answer for his crimes against the Crown and be taken into custody of the Goblin Nation."

Okay.

So, maybe David should have been paying a little bit more attention.

Looking between Ragnar and Dumbledore, David watched, frozen, riveted, as the Goblin Nation provided a solid case upon which to arrest Dumbledore with – one that before had been refused, as he held the location of Lorelei.

Lorelei, who was _right there in the Wixengamot_.

Warlock Greengrass looked ready to grant them permission right then, but called for a vote. David, exempt due to it involving his family, tried to count the votes cast, but was unable to before magic provided a number.

David's heart thudded painfully in his chest.

One vote in Dumbledore's favour, against the Goblin Nation.

David looked to Augusta, who lowered her wand, the tip lowing red.

"You absolute bitch – you could have brought it to a tie," David _seethed_. A tie meant bringing the Original Families down to the Floor. A tie meant David's exemption was lifted, as the Potter's were one of said Original Families. A tie meant it was down to David, four of his staunchest allies, and _one_ enemy to choose between the life and execution of Albus Dumbledore.

Augusta narrowed her eyes at him, "Dumbledore is a magnificent wizard – I couldn't let those _creatures_ take him and lop off his head." David shook, eyes burning with frustrated tears.

 _So close. So fucking close!_

"The Wixengamot has led a majority vote on the notion of disallowing you custody of Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class," Warlock Greengrass stated, bitterness evident. Clearly, he now wished he had been able to vote. "If the Goblin Nation has other issues to discuss, now is your time to raise them. Otherwise, the Wixengamot wishes you good fortune and bloody battle, and invites you to watch from within the Ambassadorial Gallery if you so wish."

Ragnar sneered, "No Dumbledore, no Potter."

David would have cried in outrage.

But Lorelei did it for him.

"What the hell? No! My brother is _right there_. I am _not_ going to go underground again after I leave here today," she swore, quite obviously angry. "If you want Dumbledore, then do some research into the people you rely on to get him – the fact that he just got off with nothing because of a fucking _majority vote_ proves you can do more. Goblin Nation, Goblin Horde – what use are your fancy titles when you can't get a single damn head cut off?"

David stared at her in absolute _horror_ as Ragnar _grinned_.

"Is that a challenge, Lady Heiress?"

Lorelei's eyes flashed. "I suppose it is. Can I go to my brother, now?"

Ragnar gave a screechy laugh, waving her off boredly, "Fine. Go. You were being a nuisance in the mines, anyway – you human girls stink of the wrong kind of blood, even when it is not flowing from you." Lorelei flushed horribly, as did several others – why, David didn't know – before a path was made through the wall of guards for her. David stood at that, not knowing the protocol for this kind of situation, glancing at Greengrass and getting a nod. Starting down the rows, David met Lorelei half-way, arms wrapping around each other tightly. He didn't pretend to be manly as his eyes began to leak tears, feeling a dampening on his chest around Lorelei's head-height.

"Hello," she croaked.

"Hello," he replied, choking slightly, barely noticing the Goblin Nation leave. "I want to look at you." He pulled back, looking at her close-up. "I've missed you…"

"I thought you were dead my entire life! Aunt Petunia _knew_ you were in a coma, but-"

David stalled, "Aunt _Petunia?_ " He stared at her, but in a different sort of way now. "You've been living in the _muggle_ world all this time? With mum's _disowned sister Petunia?_ "

Lorelei grit her teeth, face twisting in pain. "Yes. I've lived a sort of crappy life, but it's had its good points – my GSCE results were supposed to come in today." Her face fell, and David felt a weird sense of déjà vu.

"GSCE's?" He repeated, remembering vaguely that they were muggle exams, but… "Aren't those, like, equivalent to OWL's?"

Her brow knitted, "Usually you take GSCE's at fifteen, sixteen." David blinked.

"Isn't that a bit hard, then?"

"I'm a certified genius."

Oh.

Okay.

 _That was unexpected_ , he thought to himself lightly. "Do you know how Dumbledore was hiding you? Or-"

"I was in the middle of a Dead Zone," she interrupted. "But I don't want to talk about it…hi."

David swallowed, brought right back to the beginning in an instant. "Hello. It's…it's been a long time. The last time I saw you, you were so small…" And he'd always thought it strange, but he could never remember her being much younger than two at all.

She bit her lip, before holding out a hand. He took it, the two quiet as a warmth was shared between them, before Warlock Greengrass coughed.

"Lord David Fleamont, if you would take a seat – as your legal secondary, Lady Heiress Lorelei Sophie may sit beside you, in a similar way to Lady Regent Augusta and Young Lord Neville of House Longbottom."

David glanced over, "Of course." He led Lorelei up to his Chair, motioning to the square stone stool beside it. Lorelei sat down, sitting admirably straight as he sat in his Chair again. Warlock Greengrass proceeded with the Wixengamot session, the Goblin Nation leaving. David kept looking to Lorelei though, who watched the Court with obvious interest, only frowning every so often – most likely because of the actual notions being passed and scrapped, rather than the terminology. David had picked it all up pretty easily, for someone who'd been in a coma for three of his important developmental years.

Also, what she'd said about being a certified genius certainly gave him confidence in believing she understood it all.

* * *

Lorie stared into the fireplace, watching the flames flicker and flare, Nimkee sprawling out in front of her on the rug, dangerously close. They were in central London, in some kind of townhouse. David hadn't given her an address, only slicing her palm with his ring and pressing the blood up against a gate that Lorie's eyes hadn't even seen before he'd done it.

David was behind her now, arguing with their 'uncle', a man by the name of Remus, Remus' wife, Narcissa Lupin, and his step-child, Urso, about Lorie's status as a squib.

"It just doesn't make sense! She's thirteen! She shouldn't be getting a letter!"

"Well _obviously_ she got one, Potter," Urso drawled as a house-elf – a strange, large-eared creature that looked after households, apparently – did their nails. Lorie glanced back at them, wondering if they did ballet too. _They certainly have the grace for it._

"We need to send a letter to Professor McGonagall," Remus raised his voice, "She's in charge of the letters that go out. If Lorie's supposed to go to Hogwarts this year, either – for some reason – Hogwarts' Student Directory thinks her only eleven, or due to her removal from this…Dead Zone, it was finally able to send her a letter." Lorie frowned at that, eyebrows knitting together. _Didn't I tell them I got a letter before leaving Privet Drive?_ But she decided not to correct his assumption, instead deciding to study the book Narcissa had given her – 'Etiquette for Young Wix: Welsh Families'.

She opened it up, and immediately blinked in confusion. _I don't know how to read Welsh._ Her fingers trailed along under the text, teeth biting on the flesh of her lip softly. David had mentioned that the Family Manor in outer Cardiff had been burned down in the war against the Dark Lord Grindewald, which had prompted Fleamont Potter to get off his arse finally and help defeat the bastard, prompting their move to England – it would explain why she was given a Welsh Families book rather than an English Families book. _Strange how the title is in the English language though, if we're Welsh, truly_ , Lorie thought as she skimmed the writing, not understanding a word. _I wonder if David understands it_. She endeavoured to learn, like she was Greek, Ancient and modern-day, and Gobbledegook.

"All in all though, it wouldn't matter though, would it?" Urso spoke again. "She's not been to Hogwarts, she's lived in the muggle world – she doesn't know as much, if anything that a true third year would. We don't even know if she can perform magic."

"I can do magic," Lorie interrupted, causing them to look at her. "I can. Once- once I made the flowers in Aunt Petunia's garden bloom. In Autumn." The funny thing was, she had done it, but immediately after the flowers had died. If it had truly been magic – and not a hallucination, or dream – then it wasn't very strong magic at all. "And I always made the cars flip," Lorie added belatedly, when a few more seconds had passed.

At least that was explained, now.

David smiled triumphantly, "Amazing, Lorelei."

"Lorie."

"Amazing, Lorie," he looked to the clock over the mantelpiece. "Augusta will be expecting me back. Are you sure you're okay with her here?" Lorie startled.

"I'm staying here? I'm not going with you?"

David spared her a glance, a contrite expression appearing. "Sorry. I live with Neville, my godbrother, and his grandmother – have since I woke up. Remus and Narcissa are good friends though, and Urso. Remus is basically our uncle, and Narcissa's a cousin, of sorts. As I live with the Longbottom's though, I don't have authority to bring you into their home, let alone invite you to live with us." He motioned to Remus. "They've offered to house you, when you aren't at Hogwarts. You'll be safe here."

"But I just found you!" Lorie's grip on the book tightened, eyes stinging as hurt expanded in her chest. "Everyone keeps _leaving!_ " All of a sudden the fireplace flared, the flames expanding and almost causing Nimkee's fur to catch alight – only the kneazle's quick reflexes and magical instincts saved it. Lorie cried out, ducking down, clutching the book to her chest.

"Oh my." Narcissa rushed over, kneeling beside her and pulling the young girl into her arms, hands brushing over her body, checking for burns. "Your magic is strong. Are you unharmed? What is troubling you? Are you burned anywhere?"

Lorie sucked in a breath, shaking her head as she held back tears. _I will not cry in front of strangers!_ "Nothing, nothing's the matter, I'm okay." She pulled away, staggering to her feet before rushing out of the kitchen, ignoring their calls, gripping the book in her arms tightly as she fled, wanting out.

Within seconds, she was at the door. Yanking it open, Lorie ran down the wide, white stone steps, pushing open the thin black gate and hurrying along the pavement, feet slamming against concrete. _Why does everyone keep leaving me?_

A shadow at her feet meowed, running with her, deftly manoeuvring itself in between her feet, keeping pace. _Mistress, try to calm yourself._

 _I can't, Nimkee_ , she said without speaking. Nimkee didn't reply, only continuing to run with her as they traversed London, becoming lost within the winding streets and dark alleys, instincts keeping her far from danger. She only stopped when she ran into a tall, firm figure, tripping up and slipping past their left to the hard ground, landing roughly on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" The person – the man, stopped, turning to face her, crouching down to help her up. Nimkee disappeared into a nearby alley as Lorie looked up. The man was deeply tanned, with inky black curls that sprouted from his head, reaching just to the tips of his ears, dark eyes a bright sea green that had so much depth to them that Lorie was rendered speechless, something with her knowing him for what he was not. "Child, are you hurt?"

"You aren't human," she choked out, trying to back away, only for his hand to come to rest in hers, a sense of calm crashing over her like a wave. Going slightly boneless, Lorie kept staring at the man as he helped her sit, other hand resting on her back in a comforting position. "What are you?"

"I am something older than you," he murmured, "though by that book, you belong to a world just as ancient." Unthinkingly, Lorie clutched the book tighter to herself, regaining some control over her body. "Do not fret. Word has already reached me of your culture – it was recently discovered you had not died out, and had instead gone into hiding. I would much appreciate it if you could direct me to them, actually. I wish to find my descendants."

"I just found them too," Lorie whispered, before what she guessed to being her magic reached out, brushing against the man's self. He jerked, staring.

"You are not just one of them, but one of _hers_." Lorie frowned as he stood, pulling her to her feet. "You are tied in protection to one far from here. I can feel it. She would never forgive me if any protection around her daughter like this was broken due to my knowing neglect. Wait here." _She?_ Lorie continued to frown, watching him as he stepped into the alley, golden light following him leaving her eyeline. But her eyes widened as she felt him disappear, feet moving her so she could see where he had been – now, where he _wasn't_.

"Where is he?" She asked to thin air, confounded. Even Nimkee, with her strange, kneazle transportation, disappeared slowly, presence still tangible even after she'd left, in a way unable to be detected.

This man – this man had just disappeared out of _existence_.

Slightly panicked now, Lorie stepped back, running back the way she had came, awareness now causing her to realise that she was actually, truly lost, with only a book and pockets full of lint to help her.

"Child," the man's voice called out from nowhere. Lorie jumped, lurching to a stop and spinning, eyes wide as she saw the man, holding-

"Dudley!" She exclaimed, before rushing forwards, slamming into her cousin, shaking. Dudley's arms looped around her, his weight leaning on her for a few moments, before he swayed, and the man separated them both. "What are you doing?" But then Dudley collapsed, the man catching him as he fell. It was then that Lorie finally noticed the state of her cousin, his clothes bloodied and sliced, blonde hair shorn off. What wounds she could see beneath his clothes were open and some festering. "Oh my god."

"Gods," the man said, in a tone that implied he was correcting her, before he looked to her. "Where do you live, as of this moment?"

"I-" Lorie started, but realised she couldn't give an address, "I live with Remus, and Narcissa. We used magic to get there. I don't know where it is. Nimkee might though."

"Nimkee?"

There was a meow. Lorie traced it, finding Nimkee strolling up towards them. Crouching, she ran a hand over her kneazle's head, looking back to the man, worrying over Dudley as he let out a pained groan in his unconsciousness.

"Nimkee. She's my kneazle. She can travel, uh…through shadows? I don't really know how it works…but she can take people."

"Let her take you," the man commanded, "I will follow." Lorie swallowed, because yes, he _could_ follow.

He'd found her after she'd ran off from their original place of meeting, after all.

"Okay," she whispered, wondering how much trouble she'd be in for inviting a strange being into Remus and Narcissa's home before she looked to Nimkee, who mreowed again. _Do not be afraid, mistress, for only if you offend him or his beloveds greatly shall he reply in anger. The Lord of Atlantis is trustworthy._

Lorie's eyes widened, before Nimkee disappeared to the kitchen she had ran away from, bringing her along. A moment later, Dudley and Poseidon followed.

"Lorie!" Narcissa swept her up in her arms, worrying over her as Poseidon sat Dudley down on the table, upsetting Urso's open nail-varnish. Remus took out his wand, before Lorie escaped Narcissa's arms to step in front of him.

"Please, it's Dudley, and he's hurt and Poseidon won't do anything to hurt me or you or any of us," she begged, swallowing, glancing back at her cousin, whose laboured breaths filled the sudden silence as the atmosphere became tense.

"Are you sure, cub?" Remus kept his wand up. "Because he seems pretty dangerous for someone who won't hurt us."

"I promise, I do not mean any harm," Poseidon said lowly. "It seems that both our world have forgot each other. I am Poseidon, God of the Seas and King of Atlantis, to name only the most important of my titles. I came across this child while she was in distress, and upon the meeting of our respective powers, I realised several things – one of which, that this child was subject to a blood protection, and that her protector was far away from her. To keep this protection active until her maturation, her protector, this young man, must be kept alive. I am no healer. If you would, it would be in your interests to find this mortal a healer."

Lorie didn't take her eyes off her so-called 'uncle', watching amber slowly fade as light blue took its place. Remus looked over at Dudley on the table, sniffing carefully.

"Narcissa, would you be so kind as to take up your mantle of mediwitch for Mr Dursley here?" He spoke cordially to his wife, before lowering her wand to the spilt nail-varnish. The owner – absent, like David – would most likely not be very happy about the vanishing of said nail-varnish, but at the moment, Lorie was too worried for Dudley to care. Turning, she fretted as she approached, taking his large hand in her own.

"May I ask what your name is?" Poseidon murmured as Narcissa came over, his eyes watching her wand as she waved it over the teenager, causing an empty scroll to fill with dark red ink before everything but his underwear was vanished.

"Lorie, Your Highness," Lorie replied quietly, watching in fascination as Narcissa washed and sterilised, and then closed up Dudley's cuts and healed his bruises. It took precious little time at all, but still, Dudley didn't wake.

"Poisoned," Narcissa muttered, unimpressed, "Why go to such lengths for a muggle? Kreacher." The house-elf appeared, ignoring Poseidon as Narcissa instructed him to retrieve a short list of things, for which Lorie had no clue to what they did.

"I found him in a monster's lair. I'll assume it was trying to capture you, instead, Lorie." Poseidon looked to her before she nodded, watching her briefly before looking back to Narcissa as she performed other magics. "It isn't uncommon for them to take hostages when hunting demigods. Unfortunately, they have become rather clever in their strategies."

"Monsters? What monsters?" Remus questioned. "Do you mean magical creatures?" Lorie glanced at the man, shaking her head.

"No, he means monsters." If they were magical creatures, then so be it, but they were still monsters. Poseidon hummed, before motioning to Dudley.

"This boy, he'll have to be kept in close proximity to you. I can tell how the protection has only recently moved to him – it needs recharging due to the transfer, but he is young. What protection you will gain from him will be weak due to his age and lack of power, with potential to break. I would recommend keeping him close, for the next few months, if you wish for the protection to remain."

"That's not possible," Remus shook his head, "Lorie is going to Hogwarts in a month. Muggles can't see it, let alone go inside."

Poseidon looked at him in amusement, "Well, that'll have to be corrected." He looked to Dudley, before waving his hand over his head, causing a flash of green to momentarily blind them all. Lorie blinked it away after a few seconds, and afterwards, she was staring at Dudley – because now he had a dark blue swirl on his face, starting at the middle of his forehead and going through his right eye, ending on his chin. Poseidon made a noise of surprise. "That wasn't meant to happen."

"What does it do?" Lorie's eyes darted to the God. He ran a hand through his hair awkwardly.

"Uh, it lets him see through all magics, through that eye at least, and stops magic that would affect him…affect him. The last time I did this to a mundane mortal, it just turned their eyes blue though. That… _mark_ , wasn't supposed to appear."

"He won't be happy about it," Lorie bit her lip, knowing her cousin. He had tattoos – she'd known that before his shirt had been taken off – but one so visible and obviously _magical_ , would make him angry. "Can't you make it disappear?" Poseidon gave her a firm look, eyes locked on her.

"You want me to take it away, girl?"

"No," Lorie replied quickly, swallowing. "Thank-you."

Poseidon nodded, before glancing at Remus. "You're a Roman."

"Really? I didn't know." Remus, wand once again out, motioned to the door. "I think it's time you left."

"Yes, I agree." Poseidon looked back at Lorie once more. "I'm going to refrain from telling your mother about this. She and I aren't speaking right now, and it'll be nice to hold something over her." Lorie's eyes widened as she stood to attention, mouth dropping open, the beginnings of speech audible.

And then he walked out of the kitchen and shut the door, disappearing like he had only a few minutes before. Lorie stared after him, before Remus put a hand on her shoulder.

"Cub, if you see that man again – run. Rumours are going around about the Gods being around still, but if he's going to act like Lily isn't dead…" his grip increased, and Lorie wondered for a moment, if anyone other than the Gods and the Goblin Horde knew anything about her at all.

* * *

On a beach, sun shining down, Sirius Black cracked an eye open as a tired, angry owl fluttered down to rest under the shade of his umbrella. Sitting up, he reached out, taking the letter from it's leg as it glared, before falling asleep.

"Wonder how far you've been travelling?" He mused, before turning his attention to the letter, blinking in surprise before adrenaline surged and he straightened.

 _To the Parent or Guardian of: Miss Cassiopeia Lorène Black  
Holiday Cabin 11's Sector of Dudaima Kahakai  
Dudaima Kahakai  
Wixen Community of Na Pali-Kona Forest Reserve  
Hawaii_

"Oh dear."

* * *

Narcissa had met Remus when he was young – only eleven. He'd been sitting in a compartment with a book, all on his own, and Narcissa had been searching for Sirius. It would be the first of many meetings over the next few short years, before Narcissa graduated and the war reached its peak. Afterwards, they would only meet once, in Diagon Alley – on the day that Draco cursed his identity as a boy and declared himself both genders.

Obviously, Lucius hadn't taken it well. He tried to grab at Urso – then Draco – to get him under control, and Narcissa had gotten in his way, getting a slap for her troubles before Remus grabbed Lucius from behind, holding his arms tightly as he asked someone to call the Aurors, and a mediwitch. Because something was wrong with Mr Malfoy if he was hitting his wife and unfairly disciplining his child for such an announcement in public – something must be wrong with Mr Malfoy's mind if he was doing such things. It didn't take much for her husband to be put away, not that Narcissa had a want to. She loved him, truly, and it hurt deep in her chest to see him behind bars in Azkaban – but it hurt more to hear him say behind those bars that Draco was disowned for thinking and speaking such wrongs.

Narcissa made sure to completely eviscerate Malfoy Manner for all the gold it was worth before moving out, freeing the house-elves and journeying to Grimmauld Place, where – upon her request – Remus waited. She'd slapped him, then invited him in to the newly-redecorated and de-pestified Black Townhouse for tea. The rest, as you say, was history. Narcissa married Remus, Urso changed their name and asked to be adopted by Remus, and they lived, occasionally letting young David Potter stay over so he could spend time with Remus.

Bringing in Lorie, and now Dudley, Narcissa was reminded of her new beginnings with Remus, and of when she was a young girl, still learning the Darkest Black Family Magic from her father, and he spoke of tales and stories of the Gods and the Curse of Bacchus upon their family. Surely the God, Poseidon, had sensed their curse – or perhaps it only affected certain lines, for Narcissa did not know if she had become mad, or would _become_ mad. Urso himself was hopefully far enough from the main family branch to be safe.

But then Poseidon called Remus a Roman. And Remus agreed.

"You are going to tell me _everything_ ," she hissed at him later that night. He sat wearily, watching Lorie on the other side of the room, explaining to Dudley the events of the past few weeks. "Remus-"

"I'll tell you, but quiet down a little," he muttered, taking her hand and rubbing it soothingly, drawing her to his side at the bookshelf. "When I was first turned, I ran away from home. And when I did, I was found by a giant wolf that spoke to me and told me things that didn't make sense. But she made some things perfectly clear – that the Gods were real, and that I was a reincarnation of the original Remus of Rome."

"Oh?" Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "And a giant wolf told you this, did it?"

" _She_ was a Goddess in her own right – and one that could take human form when she so chose, if rarely. I'm her son. It's called being a 'demigod'," he rolled his eyes, "I prefer being a wizard. She told me other things that I didn't quite believe though, so I kept it all to myself as I grew up. But I can't forget, I simply cannot – I have no choice in the matter. I remember everything. With clarity, and foresight."

"So the stories are true," Narcissa said in a hush, glancing over at Lorie, "Do you remember what he said about her mother?"

Remus' brow furrowed, "I do. It escapes me, what he means. Lily is Lorie's mother – I saw her between safe-houses, during the time she was pregnant with Lorie. She was showing. I got a letter saying they'd lost the baby, but it was around Lorie's birthday, so she survived and they simply forgot to tell me."

Narcissa had doubts though – and now theories were forming. "Remus, what if the letters were true…but Lorie was given to them, and she took the babe's place."

"No, that couldn't have been," Remus shook his head fervently. "James wouldn't have lied to me like that."

"But you must consider…"

A silence fell, only broken by the quiet and not-so-quiet conversation between Lorie and Dudley, the latter of which who seemed more than a little angry that his life was in shambles. Narcissa was familiar with the feeling, but to such an extent, and to be a child – Dudley would go to Hogwarts with Lorie, and hopefully gain some form of stability, but it was a cruel life for a mundane in a magical world.

"I will write to Sirius and ask if he knows anything."

"He would, if it involves his niece dying and being replaced like a changeling child." Narcissa brushed her hand over her husband's scarred cheek, kissing him softly before stepping away. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go retrieve a tome from the Ravenscroft Library."

She needed to brush up on her Old Stories, it seemed.

* * *

The woman tipped her head to the side, staring at the blank cliff wall. _If the wix never died, then neither did their wards_. And Amphitrite could clearly remember there being a lovely cave in here, a century past. _What wixen has dared hide my own vacation home from me?_ No doubt, if they were a plain wixen, they would not have seen the elegant structures within, or able to sense her protective enchantments – because of their wix nature and the magic that protected their society, they would have the ability to pass through them without fear nor awareness.

Shutting her eyes, Amphitrite swam forth, high tide lifting her above the rocky floor in front of what must have been a door, before she used her godly power to abolish and destroy any magic within not of her own. But before she even swam into her temporary abode, she felt death in the water. Eyes snapping open, Amphitrite was momentarily horrified by the sight of poisoned, black liquid escaping from her sanctuary. Power swelling, she cleansed it, wincing at feeling the putrescent touch of Dark Magic, as harmful and as vile as always.

Once it was all gone, Amphitrite turned her attention to the inhabitants of the water, watching in curiosity as seemingly hundreds of naked mortals climbed over each other, shouting and crying, confused and helpless. Only one seemed calm – oh, they were still wide-eyed and breathing heavily, but they were focused, and concentrating, climbing up onto a far-off dais that to them was probably a stone, but to Amphitrite was a table covered in cracking, faded mosaics. The mortal – _wix_ , Amphitrite corrected herself, as he paused to wave his hand a few times before finally causing a ball of blue flames to appear in his hand, and yes, he was a male, she could see now – went over to one of the few things within the cave that the wix who'd cursed it brought with them – a basin, held up by an ornate silver stand, which the man waved a hand over, seeming surprised by something.

Then, he put his hand into the basin, blinking for another moment, before pulling out a plain locket. He opened it with one hand, before sagging, smiling finally.

And Amphitrite realised that this mortal knew something she didn't: he knew what this cave was hiding.


	4. It's All in the Wrist

**-Chapter Four-**

I read somewhere on the internet that you have your main plot, a secondary plot, and a couple of subplots used to tie in or tie together parts of said main and secondary plots. Subplots, it seem, get away from me, and they come out of the blue.

Just like the one with Amphitrite and Regulus back just before this. But don't worry about that, pah! Nothing to worry about there at _all_ , no sir, nothing to worry about _today_ -

Except maybe when you take into account that Regulus is going to call Kreacher to help at _any second_ and either topple the new status quo, or integrate both Gods and Lupin's into the conspiracy of the Horcruxes of Voldemort, then maybe you should worry. I should worry.

And to think, that's a _subplot_.

* * *

Lorie spun around and around, eyes flickering everywhere all at once. She felt like she needed a hundred more eyes, like a hekatonkheire had a hundred hands, or- no! Didn't Argus have a thousand eyes? Or maybe it was just a hundred… _all the more appropriate, then, if I want to have a hundred eyes_ , she thought.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Narcissa mused, flipping through a directory. "Ravenscroft is the Ravensmoor Seat – the Black's have been here since before we were Ancient and Most Noble, and if there's something the history books have forgotten about us, it's the fact that we are the best kind of hoarders. Even I fall prey to it sometimes, though vanity is more my fatal flaw." She forlornly twisted a fallen lock of her hair, before unpinning it entirely. Lorie thought she looked very pretty, but understood where she was coming from.

"So the Black's just kept collecting books over the centuries, and they all ended up here?"

"Not all. There are large, very comprehensive selections at each Black Home," Narcissa informed her, before making a noise of triumph. "Light me the way to the books part of the ' _Starchasers and Blood'_ series." The floor thrummed, before it shifted colour, boards darkening as a lighter grey strip made itself clear, leading off deep into the library. "Lorie, darling, would you be a sweetheart and go get tome number…seven, for me." Lorie was moving before she even finished her sentence, catching the tail end half-way down an aisle, despite her demure, quiet voice. _Maybe being a demigod gives me better hearing_.

The light led her through the library, and to her happiness it took a long time, showing her barely a fraction of the tall, twisting shelves that books somehow didn't fall out of, even as the faced downwards as if to empty out their contents onto the ground. When she finally got to the end of the trail, to her surprise, Narcissa was already there waiting, tome seven in hand.

"How-"

"The book knew your curiosity, and gave you a tour. I lived in this house – my father was Keeper of Ravenscroft, while Orion dealt with the politics required of his station in Grimmauld Place. It's close enough to the Ministry that he didn't have to travel far if ever there was an emergency regarding the family – of which there were too, too many during the war. As a child though, I used to roam these aisles and corridors, and knew them better than the back of my hand." Narcissa shut her book, shrinking it with her wand and placing it within her pocket. "On the other side of this shelf is where we were before," she revealed.

Lorie, disbelieving, went to the end, staring at the large lounge area that they had previously stood in, Directory in place upon the coffee-table and Dudley snoring upon a sofa.

"But…but you needed a book! I was going to get it for you – why give me a…tour?"

Narcissa's lip twitched, "Did you not like it?"

"No- yes, I mean, yes, I did like the tour, but I was _helping_ you. If you didn't need help, why even ask?" Lorie made a confused face, before a pop distracted them both – Kreacher appearing, eyes wide and watery.

"Master Regulus lives! Master Regulus called Kreacher and Kreacher came and Master Regulus _lives!_ " He wailed, happiness in his voice as it echoed all throughout the library, causing Narcissa to snarl at the disturbing of its peace.

"Quiet, you beast – what do you mean, Regulus lives? And be _quiet_."

Kreacher continued to cry, hiccoughing as he explained. "Master Regulus called Kreacher and Kreacher came, and we was in the cave again and all the filthy muggles were around us and the Great Lady-Queen Lady-Mermaid had saved Master Regulus and the filthy muggles and cleansed the cave and Kreacher had been called so Kreacher came and Kreacher was ordered to help the filthy muggles get new clothes and help the filthy muggles get to the nearest filthy muggle Auror station and not be seen because filthy muggles don't remember anything but filthy muggles be called mad filthy muggles if they sees a house-elf, so Master Regulus and Great Lady-Queen Lady-Mermaid go to Black Townhouse with Kreacher's help and Master Werewolf Lupin tells Kreacher to come tell Mistress Cissy that Master Regulus lives and that Fish-King Poseidon God's wife sits at the Black Table as a guest!" He dropped to the floor, having hardly drawn breath, before Lorie looked at Narcissa in confusion.

"What?"

Narcissa's lips were tight and her eyes a fraction wider. But she managed to speak, even if her words were barely audible.

"My cousin is alive."

* * *

Regulus was very scared once he awoke from what felt like an eternal sleep. Limbs weak and dragging, he had gone to the basin, and searched for the locket – and found both his own locket, and a lack of magical protection. He breathed a sigh of relief, and all his terror drained from him as he figured that it must mean the Dark Lord was dead once and for all. Kreacher must have found a way to destroy the horcrux – oh, what a good friend he was! – and the backlash must have destabilised his magic.

But then of course, the strange woman came over and asked him why a wix had taken over her cave, saying that it had been an awful experience to cleanse it of their magic.

Regulus' heart dropped.

The Dark Lord was not defeated after all.

The woman – an ocean naiad she called herself, by the name of Amphadaia – questioned him relentlessly though, on the wixen world, his magic, wards – she was very interested about wards – and the current economical climate. Only when she finally gave him time to answer did he ask a question of his own.

"What year is it?"

"It is nineteen ninety-four. Why?" Amphadaia asked, obviously used to getting her way. Regulus shook his head, looking around at all the people who seemed to have no idea what was going on – and were staring at the fire in his hand like it was the Dark Lord himself. _Mundanes_ , he realised, but was hard-pressed to put the fire out – it was serving both as their only light except the cave entrance, and as a plughole for his long-unused magic. Draining it was the only viable solution. Picking up a wand now would be disastrous.

Regulus wondered how the war had gone, if the Dark Lord reigned in terror. "Kreacher." He called, and it was several heart-stopping seconds before Kreacher appeared.

"…Master Regulus?"

Regulus breathed out, "Kreacher, push aside your feelings for the moment, and help me-"

"Of course, of course! Kreacher will help his amazing, kind, great Master Regulus!" Kreacher wept, causing Regulus to look at him fondly before reaching down and turning his house-elf to face the mundanes.

"Get clothes for all these people. Then help them to a local police station – and do not let them see you anymore. Return to me as soon as possible." He ordered softly, causing Kreacher to gasp in outrage at serving _filthy muggles_ before Regulus reminded him of his orders. He left, returning a few minutes after, snapping his fingers impossibly fast, causing the men, women, children – _he is terrible, he is dirty and a murderous, unrepentant aspect of Chaos and all of which Tartarus would aspire to_ , Regulus seethed – to become clothed again for what could have been decades for some.

Kreacher even brought clothes for Regulus, but they were clearly expensive high-fashion that his loyal house-elf had most likely stolen from Twilfitt and Tattings. Once dressed, he turned back to the strange woman who called herself a naiad, and motioned Kreacher forwards between them.

"Kreacher, speak of what has happened since my death."

And Kreacher spoke.

By the end, Regulus didn't quite know what to think. A young boy, sacrificing himself – slipping into a regenerative magical sleep – for his sister, and causing the Dark Lord to die? No, there was something amiss. With his horcruxes, he would be immortal anyway, but his body completely disintegrating? _There is something foul afoot,_ he thought grimly.

"An interesting history," Amphadaia noted, before Kreacher finished his recounting of the past week.

"-and then the Fish-King Poseidon God appeared with the filthy muggle cousin boy of little Lady Lorie Potter and annoying Lord David Potter and gave him Magic Sight while Mistress Cissy healed him of tortures!" Kreacher finished. Regulus went to ask what he meant by 'Fish-King Poseidon God' despite the obvious descriptive within the title, but then Amphadaia spoke.

"My husband gave a mundane _what?_ "

Kreacher finally brought his eyes to the woman, and immediately his mouth dropped. "Fish-Queen Amphitrite Goddess!"

Amphadaia – _Amphitrite?_ – glowered at him. "I am not a Fish Queen. I am Queen of Atlantis, and my husband's domains – the _sea_ , not just it's _inhabitants_." Regulus stared at her.

"You are a Queen. The Dark Lord has offended a _Queen_." He slowly grinned, before laughing, hair brushing past his shoulders as he leant back, eyes squeezing shut. _The Dark Lord is dead, he will be_ _ **dead**_ _._ Because Regulus Black was of Ravensmoor, and he knew how royalty worked! He dropped to the ground, gleeful as he watched a sudden wash of water enter the cave now that the last mundane was gone, beginning to fill again the deep smooth bowl – but this time, instead of black, dark water, it was simply clear, and blue, and foamy.

Regulus looked out of the cave entrance, and wished to see more of the world. _I spent most of my life either in Hogwarts, London, or in fancy manors dining with terrorists and pure-bred bigots._ He never got to travel past the yearly holiday to their private villa in France, and even then, it was surrounded by muggle communities – he'd never got to explore, not like Sirius did in spite of their mother's protests. _Nineteen ninety-four. I have been dead to the world for nigh on fifteen years._

"Kreacher, where did you say Sirius was, currently?"

Kreacher looked at him only briefly, as the Queen of Atlantis was still berating him for calling her a Fish Queen. "Bad Master Sirius Black is in Hawaii." Regulus blew air out of his mouth, thinking of what it must be like. He remembered the posters in Sirius' room – of white beaches and hot sun and umbrellas, and topless girls in polka-dot bikini pants. _They were French_ , the factoid filled the blank space that was what mundane magazine Sirius had retrieved it from.

"Kreacher," he interrupted the Queen's tirade, getting to his feet, "Please take us to Grimmauld Place." Kreacher wasted no time, and in a moment they were standing in his kitchen…except it wasn't his kitchen.

And now one Remus John Lupin – his cousin by marriage – was pointing a wand at them.

Regulus sighed.

* * *

Lorie didn't get to spend any time with the new man – her uncle Sirius' brother, apparently, so, another uncle? – before Narcissa sent her up to see if Urso had taken his potions. Lorie took the task reluctantly, Dudley trailing up the stairs beside her.

"When are we going to get out of this stupid house?" Dudley grumbled as they reached Urso's floor.

"Too many stairs?" She suggested. Dudley muttered something rude about staircases, before Lorie knocked on Urso's door. "Urso? Urso, your mother's asking if you've taken your potions yet."

" _I've taken them – go away!_ " Lorie frowned at her cousin's sudden unpleasantness.

"Urso? Are you alright?"

There was a thump, and the sound of feet before the door was flung open, and Urso glared at them. Lorie gasped, immediately knowing what was the matter.

"What happened to your _hair?!_ "

Urso's previously white-blonde hair was now a myriad of colour, pulsing and _shifting_ even now, as seconds passed. Sleek would turn to frizz, which would turn to wavy, which would turn to sleek, and so on and so forth. Their shirt was covered in a funny purple liquid that Lorie recognised as one of their potions to help them become an androgynous human being, but red streaks betrayed the blood from cuts, which were still seeping all over their chest and hands.

"Are you _okay?_ Oh my god," Lorie grabbed her cousin's wrist, pulling them towards the stairs. "NARCISSA! UNCLE REMUS! REGULUS-"

"Shut up!" Urso hissed, panicked, hair flashing neon yellow. They tugged their arm away, moving, only to run right into Dudley, who grabbed the neck of their shirt, dragging them down the stairs.

"You're mum would kill us if we let you stay like this," Dudley glared at the older wix – but while it might have only been a few months difference, Urso was still intimidated. Lorie, having known many on the receiving end, pitied them, before rushing downstairs to where the adults were.

"Narcissa, Remus – Urso's hurt!" she didn't bother knocking, but by their expressions, neither parent minded. Regulus looked a little put-out, which lowered her opinion of him drastically in that moment, before Dudley came in with Urso, who stumbled as Dudley pressed them forwards, hair going lank and cycling through a mix of depressed blue, grey and yellowed green. "And…things have gone a bit weird." Urso's hair was acting like a mood-ring!

"Oh, my little one," Narcissa swept over, unbuttoning their shirt to see the cuts, which must have been from something they were holding – it would explain the potion too. Lorie stepped back, watching carefully as she sat them down, wand already out and working on healing the cuts and vanishing what remained of the potion. "Metamorphmagi are in our family. The most recent in history is your cousin, Nymphadora."

"I know, mother, I figured it out – but I thought you'd be angry."

"Never," Remus answered, standing beside them and combing his hand through their hair, which reacted by softening visibly, and turning – maybe not surprisingly – Remus' shade of honey blonde, rather than the white blonde of Lord Malfoy. "Worried, yes, intrigued, curious and shocked, yes, angry? No. How long has it been since it started acting like this?"

"Just a few minutes," they muttered, before Regulus quietly drew Lorie's attention.

"Heiress Potter, I believe I find myself in a predicament."

Lorie turned her head as Urso and his parents continued talking, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow as if saying _'What do you want?'_

"You see, I saw my family tree, and upon it was your portrait, underneath my brother," Regulus raised his own eyebrow, as if asking, _'Are you his daughter?'_

In reply, Lorie blinked. "Lily might not have been my mother, but I'm still directly related to James. _He_ is my father, sir, Sirius is just my brother's godfather."

Regulus seemed amused by this, "Of course. Sirius did always say he didn't have the ability, of his own volition – we never believed him. Blood-adoption, it is the only explanation. How strange that it affected your appearance so much, but then again, James' mother was a Black – you look awfully like both of your fathers, indeed." By this time, Lorie was very confused, and then of course, Regulus shook his head and continued speaking. "Oh, what am I saying, 'both'? No, my English seems to be slipping. Come with me." He stood fluidly, attracting attention.

"Regulus? Where are you going?" Narcissa asked.

"Just to the family tree," he spoke casually, eyeing Dudley before motioning for Lorie to follow. Baffled, she did, wanting to know what he meant – because blood-adoption? If that mean what Lorie thought it meant…for a moment she worried, for she was a demigod, but then remembered how she was able to open the Black Vaults in Gringotts.

Was this why?

Going to the family tree, within what seemed to be a music room, Lorie was drawn by Regulus to the brightest part of the tree – where Regulus and Sirius' portraits sat. Beside Sirius' – to Lorie's confusion – was Remus, who was looped the same way to Sirius that he was to Narcissa, if faded, and then a red-headed woman, and beneath the three of them, connected by vines, was a picture of her.

But Lorie immediately found a problem.

"That's not my name," she pointed at it. Regulus frowned.

"Your name is Lorie, is it not? Short for Lorène."

Lorie shook her head, crouching delicately, staring at her doppelganger. "My name is Lorelei – Lorelei Sophie Potter. I'm not- I'm not this…Cassie, girl."

"Cassiopeia," Regulus said gently, correcting her. "This is quite the mystery though. As my brother is a convict – if not truly – it falls to me to be Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."

"Are you Duke of Ravensmoor, too?"

"No."

"Okay…you were saying?"

"Yes. As it falls to me to be Head of the Black's, I will have to investigate this. Her sons will supersede my claim."

Lorie scoffed, "She's younger than I am." Her eyes traced the threaded text. _Cassiopeia Lorène Black. 19-2-1983_.

"She'll be starting Hogwarts," Regulus noted, "Eleven years old, what an age to be in the wixen world. You only recently got your letter, I heard, after some years in exile from magic."

"Yes," Lorie stared a moment longer at her copy before standing straight, brushing off her skirt. Dudley shuffled over from the doorframe, looking at the tapestry.

"Big family…is that the Nymph-girl?" He pointed to a clear picture of a young woman, her hair changing colour. Lorie immediately searched out Draco – who was beside her, hair changing too.

"It must be," Lorie and Regulus said together, both giving each a look before Regulus bowed shortly. "I will take my leave. I believe Kreacher has made me up my old room, and I am tired."

Dudley grunted, "Isn't that where the queen lady went?" Regulus paused.

"…I shall endeavour to find out. Hopefully I will not have to find other accommodations." He left, and Lorie was alone with her cousin, who wandered over, looking more at the tapestry.

"That's your mum, ain't it?" Dudley pointed to the redhead beside Remus and Sirius, and Lorie went to say it couldn't be…but her mouth went dry, before she searched for a name.

"It's not there – she has no name." Lorie whispered, nausea rising in her gut.

"Maybe it's cause she wasn't married, see – there're others." Dudley looked up, Lorie following his gaze. And it was true – there were men, and women, who had nameless partners, or husbands and wives, and a third. Those that had children, and two were husbands, there was _always_ a woman.

"Surrogate," Lorie whispered, eyes flicking between Sirius and Remus. "Oh my god, Remus was gay for my uncle, and my mum was their surrogate. No wonder Remus hated Sirius for so long after he went to Azkaban – they were _husbands_."

"…that's gay."

"Obviously, Dudley."

"…gross."

"Shut the fuck up, there's nothing wrong with it – and don't think I haven't caught you feeling up both Piers' sister _and_ Piers – _at the same time._ "

Dudley put up his hands. "You win."

Lorie took a second to punch the air, before grabbing his hand, pulling him out of the room. "C'mon, let's go somewhere more private to talk about it." They left, but didn't notice the large, golf-ball eyes, luminous beneath the drapes of the piano, watching them go.

"Head would want to knows this."

* * *

David leant back, feeling tired after finishing the letter. He was sending it to Professor McGonagall on Lorelei's- Lorie's, behalf, questioning why it took so long and asking if there was any way to get her back to speed, referencing the early finishing of her mundane education – even sending a copy of the sheet, knowing that Minnie would understand it all, because that was how awesome she was.

He'd be showing Lorie too, obviously, though he wouldn't be telling her just how he got a hold of the letter. It involved a little too much underage magic for his tastes, and while Lorie _was_ his sister, he had no idea what she was like. Hopefully the following years in Hogwarts would help with that. He would find out what her favourite foods were, what her favourite colours was, if she preferred the couch or an armchair, and whether she followed the rules or broke them. Her morals and ethics would be different from his, he'd already realised that, especially with all that school stuff – he knew what kind of people lived in Hogwarts' walls, and he knew that intelligence changed the way a person thought.

Percy Weasley for example. He was clever, and hard-working, but hardly a rule-breaker or just any sort of breaker, really. Challenging the status quo was not one of Percy Weasley's strengths. But Ginny – oh, he knew that girl was a firecracker, and bent the rules until you didn't know which way was up. Flexible, strong-hearted, with good instincts. If she were any older, he might have dated her. As it was, he didn't date her – thankfully, because if he did he would be automatically suspended from any jaunts around the castle with Fred and George for corrupting their little sister, and not in the way they thought she wasn't already corrupted to the core.

A new owl flew into the study. David recognised the eagle immediately, smiling. _Just on time, Cho_. Holding up his arm, Archie swooped down and landed on it, baring his leg with it's attached letter proudly.

"Thank-you," David stroked the bird before taking the letter, depositing him on his shoulder, opening it. Inside, the contents spoke of the beautiful, crowded, but terribly loud Magical Shanghai, which existed in an Upside Down that the wix of China had found and colonised. Cho could speak both Wixen and Mundane Mandarin, and she'd been teaching him little bits of written and spoken, so he recognised the characters at the end. Smiling widely, David tucked the letter into the inside pocket of his waist-coat, knowing better than to put it in his t-shirt breast-pocket – Augusta hated them enough, but to use them rather than the mundane formal clothes for storing important documents, the shame of it!

"I'll send a reply later, Archie," he told the eagle, brushing his hand over his head again. "Go hunt. Or sleep. Come to my window later tonight, and I'll have your precious cargo." Archie made a sound of affirmation before leaving the way he came, giving David the chance to go see what Neville had gotten up to.

"Neville?" He called, searching for his brother in everything but blood. Most likely, he was in the greenhouses, but David didn't want to venture out in the cold weather just yet, lest Neville was inside. "Neville-"

"Be quiet in my sister's home, boy," Algernon came out of nowhere, as per usual, smoking a cigar. David glared.

"Don't smoke, either, and we'll have a deal." He raised his voice again. "Neville?" The door to the fifth living room opened, Neville popping his head around the bend.

"What is it, Dave?"

David ignored Algernon as he walked past the grumbling adult, joining Neville in the living room. "Nothing. Just don't have anything to do. I'm going to a pen a reply to a letter Cho sent, later, but other than that my day is empty."

"W-w-why don't we go see your sister? You- you can introduce me." The Longbottom smiled nervously, and David smiled back, but shook his head.

"I know you want to meet her, but she's still new to our world. I'm going to go see her the day after tomorrow – you can come then. But anyway, what else can we do?"

"Um…we could, uh…do our summer homework?"

David gave Neville a Look, before sighing and nodding. "Sure. Let's go to your study – it's less cluttered than mine is."

"That's because I don't use mine, though, not like you do. Gran keeps telling me to send more letters."

"That bitch can fuck off," David breathed, remembering the Court Session starkly before he replied properly. "She can't force you to socialise, Nev, stop letting her bully you."

"But she's my Gran…"

David's eyes flashed. "Family doesn't treat family the way Augusta treats you – and what does she do for either of us, other than belittle our dreams and force us down?"

"Don't say another word, son," Algernon said in a threatening tone, in reply to his words. "You leave Neville be-"

"You've nearly killed him before!" David rounded on him, snarling, "Why should I _ever_ listen to you when it comes to his wellbeing?" Algernon pointed his cigar at David, advancing with angry eyes.

"That is none of your business, boy! Neville is _my_ family, _my family_ – do you hear me? Stop filling his head with nonsense!"

"Non- _nonsense?_ I fill his head with nonsense?" David spluttered, before balling his fists. "You told him he was a squib his entire life! How do you think he must have felt? You're an abusive bastard who should never have met him-"

 _SLAP!_

David fell to the ground at the backhand, spitting blood onto the Persian rug and not regretting it slightly, instead grinning and looking up at Algernon with bright eyes.

"Finally."

It was only then that Algernon realised just what he had done, eyes widening as he looked between David and his hand. "Shit…"

"Yeah, _shit_ , alright. Neville, if you would listen closely," David looked to his brother-in-all-but-blood. "Guest Rite is the concept that revolves around the idea of that when host and all the assets within their home – family members and staff included – invite a guest to stay for any amount of time, they are obliged to treat said guest with respect and cordiality. They will not harm their guest, or allow harm to _come_ to their guest. It is especially important when that guest is the Lord or Heir to a Great House – such as mine."

"Uncle Algie just hit you," Neville's chin wobbled slightly as he looked between his great uncle and David. "So he broke Guest Rite?"

"Yes, I did," Algernon admitted quietly, much calmer and serious now, "And I offer my fullest apologies, Lord Potter."

David glanced at Algernon. "Your apologies aren't needed. To tell the truth, I've been baiting you for years, even before I took on my Lordship. But that doesn't matter. You still broke Guest Rite, so now I can enact Lord's Due."

"Lord's Due – isn't that when you- when you get to do what you want, really?" Neville questioned. "If something's done against you, you get to take your revenge?"

"Payment is a better word for it, but yes." David nodded, standing straight, taking a handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbing his nose gently before wiping the blood away from underneath it and his chin. "Lord's Due comes in a lot of different forms though. In this situation, I'll take my Lord's Due as responsibility for Young Lord Neville of House Longbottom."

"What?" Algernon's head whipped up, "No! You can't take him-"

"I can and I will," David glared, "I'll do it because _you_ were the one to hit me, his second-closest family member, and a primary resident of his Estate. I'll do it because _obviously_ you're a danger to his continued health and wellbeing and _life._ "

"David, what are you doing?" Neville came up to him, nervous but strong. "This is my home-"

"I know it is, Neville, but you aren't safe here," David grabbed the front of his button-down shirt, looking down at him with worried eyes. "I will not let him or anyone else hurt you. You're my baby brother. The only thing I'm doing to moving you into my Estate, like- like a ward. You're my ward now, like I was your gran's these past couple of years. You're my ward."

Neville looked at David like he didn't understand for a long few moments, before he hesitantly nodded and wrapped his arms around him, David reciprocating without even having to think about it.

"Augusta won't be happy," Algernon warned.

David looked over to the Unspeakable and lifted his chin. "The only person she has to blame is you."


End file.
